


Serenity's Shadow

by Chryse73



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Epic, Foreshadowing, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Novel, Original Character(s), Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 113,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chryse73/pseuds/Chryse73
Summary: Set after the events of the novel 'Cold Fusion' and before 'Earthshock'. Nyssa decides she wants to leave the TARDIS crew and make a new life for herself on the Trakenite colony of Serenity. But little does she realise 'there's no place like home'...This is a novel-length fic that took me a LONG time to write, and so will take a wee bit longer than 5 minutes to read, but if you stick with it to the end you will be rewarded, I promise! :)





	1. There's No Place Like Home

**Chapter 1 – There’s No Place Like Home**

 

Tegan leaned on the console, her head in her hands, and sighed as she watched the time rotor move up and down.  Finally she spoke.

“OK Doc, someone’s got to make a decision here or I’m going to go stir crazy!”

The Doctor looked up from his calculations.  “Hmmm?”  He peered at the young Australian woman over his half-moon spectacles.  

Tegan strode around the console towards him. “For cripe’s sake Doctor!  A _decision_!  You tell me there’s an infinite universe out there, so let’s go and see some of it!  I may only have been an air hostess for five minutes, but even I know that every flight needs what is commonly known as a _destination_ …..?”

The Doctor put down his pad with a flourish.  “Quite right Tegan!  A destination!”  He thrust his hands in his pockets and turned suddenly towards Adric, who looked up, startled.

“Adric!  Where would you like to go?”

Adric thought for a moment, then shrugged.  “Anywhere, as long as it’s not Earth again!”

“And what’s wrong with Earth?” asked Tegan, rounding on Adric.  

The Doctor stared at the ceiling in exasperation.  ‘Not another argument…’ he thought, before deciding that a distraction was required.  “What do you think Nyssa?  Any ideas?”  

He turned around, but the young Trakenite was nowhere to be seen.  He looked back at Tegan, a puzzled expression on his face.  “Where’s Nyssa?”

Tegan folded her arms and leaned back against the console.  “In her room Doctor, where she’s been ever since we left the Scientifica planet.”  She rolled her eyes.  “Don’t you notice anything that goes on around here?”

“She’s probably missing Cwej,” muttered Adric under his breath, “they seemed to be getting _very_ close before we left,” he added, sarcastically.

“And what do _you_ know about it?” asked Tegan, hands on hips.

The Doctor intervened between the two once more.  “Alright, Tegan, alright!  I’m sure Adric wasn’t implying anything, um, _untoward_.”  He turned to face her.  “Has Nyssa spoken to you about what’s upsetting her?”

Tegan sighed.  “Not really Doc.  She’s just, well, I don’t know, a bit down I guess.  I’ve tried talking to her, but she just clams up, or sticks her nose in a book.  Maybe she’s just not feeling well?”

Adric looked up.  “Could it be that thing that happened to her on Deva Loka again?”

The Doctor seemed deep in thought.  “Mmm?  Oh no, I don’t think so.  The Delta Wave Augmenter should have cured that.  No, I think it’s probably something much simpler than that.”

“What do you mean, Doctor?” asked Tegan.  

The Doctor sighed heavily.  “Well, think about it.  Nyssa’s been through a lot since she found us on Logopolis – her father murdered, his body taken over by the Master, and her whole world destroyed.  I’m surprised it’s taken this long really.”

Adric frowned.  “What’s taken this long?”

“Oh, depression, post traumatic stress disorder, call it what you will.  No-one can go through so much tragedy and not be affected by it, sooner or later.  The classic symptom of course is withdrawal.”  The Doctor studied a readout on the console.

“So how do we snap her out of it, Doc?” asked Tegan, concerned.

The Doctor smiled.  “Well, I think your first suggestion would be an excellent starting point, Tegan!”

Tegan and Adric exchanged puzzled looks.  

“A _destination_!” The Doctor grinned, as he began resetting the TARDIS controls.  “Somewhere to cheer Nyssa up, begin the healing process!”  

“Serenity.”

The small voice came from the doorway to the TARDIS interior.  The three travellers turned to see Nyssa standing there, dressed as usual in her burgundy trouser suit, her normally smiling face marred by dark circles under her eyes.

“I want to go to Serenity,” she said quietly.  “I want to go _home._ ”

 

 

It had been a quiet night on Foster Novak’s round – a stray animal had knocked over some bins in the residential area, two lovers had been caught out beyond curfew – the usual suspects.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  He sighed as he walked past the Remembrance Gardens.  ‘Not that anything out of the ordinary _ever_ happens around here,’ he thought.  In fact, he struggled to remember anything momentous that had happened to this settlement in the last three centuries.  Sometimes, in moments of weakness, he wished for just a _little_ excitement, maybe even an actual _crime_ to investigate.  But these moments were few and far between, and usually ended in repentant prayers to the Lady, hand on brow, requesting absolution for his wicked thoughts.  He was, after all, a dedicated devotee, and took his job of securing the Lady's Peace very seriously.

He shouldered his weapon, and was just turning to head for home when he heard a strange, _wheezing/groaning_ sound coming from the depths of the Gardens.  The noise reached a crescendo, then as it faded Novak noticed a momentary flashing light coming from deep within the foliage.

“What the…..?” he gasped.  This was most definitely _extra_ ordinary!  Foster Novak took a deep breath, before shakily grasping his energy rifle, offering up a silent prayer, and creeping through the gates into the dark, overgrown garden.

 

 

The four travellers watched in silence as the time rotor came to a stop.

“Well, we’re here,” said Adric, unnecessarily.  He consulted the console.  “Serenity.  Furthest settlement of the Traken Union.  We’ve arrived approximately 300 years after the, erm…”  His voice trailed off as he looked awkwardly at Nyssa.

“After the destruction of Traken,” she finished, matter-of-factly.  She looked at Adric and smiled warmly.  “It’s all right you know,” Nyssa said. “I’m not going to fall apart at the mere mention of what happened.”

The Doctor stepped forward, put his hands on Nyssa’s shoulders and peered at her intently.  “Are you sure this is what you want, Nyssa?  I know this is a Trakenite colony but it may be significantly different from the homeworld you knew, particularly given the loss of the Keeper…”

Nyssa took his hands in hers and nodded, her chestnut curls bouncing around her pale, aristocratic face.  “I’ve thought about this a great deal Doctor, ever since I heard of Serenity’s survival.  And whilst I haven’t regretted a moment I’ve spent on board the TARDIS, I realise it can never _truly_ be home.”  She sighed and looked down at the floor.  “Serenity may not be Traken, but it’s the closest I’m ever going to get.”  She looked across at Tegan and Adric, and smiled.  “Tegan, you’ve been desperate to get home from the first moment we met.”  

Tegan folded her arms and smiled ruefully.  Nyssa shifted her gaze to Adric.

“And Adric – you’re an orphan like me.  I know you’d give almost anything to find the way back to E-Space and the Starliner, in the hope you can find a home, a _family_ there.  You both must understand why I have to give this a chance.”  She looked back at the Doctor, who smiled warmly and sighed in resignation.

“Well, as my old teacher on Gallifrey used to say: ‘there’s no timestream like the mutually agreed current continuum’”.  He operated the door control, deftly shook out his panama hat, placed it on his head, and strolled through the doors.

Tegan looked confused.  

Adric gave her a cheeky grin and explained:  “no time like the present!” before following the Doctor outside.

Tegan rolled her eyes, then held her hand out to Nyssa, smiling.  “Shall we?”

Nyssa took her friend’s hand, and pulled her into a tight hug.  “No time like the present,” she echoed, before taking a deep breath and walking outside. 

 

 

“Perfect!” muttered Foster Novak, as he crawled through a tangled mess of weeds and foliage, “Five minutes before shift-end, and here I am face down in dirt.  I should have known better than to wish for excitement - this is the Lady's doing.”  

He stopped and wiped the sweat from his dirt streaked brow.  By his estimation he was a few feet from where the disturbance had happened.  It was probably nothing (he told himself), but he needed to be prepared.  With trembling hands he rechecked his communicator, adjusted his armour and tested his rifle’s charge level, before quieting his breathing and offering up a silent prayer to the goddess.  

It was then that he heard the voices - soft at first, coming from an area to the right of where he had anticipated.  Holding his breath, he turned and listened intently:  there were definitely two, he thought, at least one male and one female.  He was struggling to make out the conversation when they were joined by a third voice - another male, he thought, higher-pitched than the first but definitely male.  None of the voices were familiar to him, but whoever they were, they were curfew-breakers.  Not only that, they were trespassing in the Remembrance Gardens, which was expressly prohibited.  However, he was one and they were at least three, so he’d have to call for backup to help him round them up.  

Novak began to quietly manoeuvre himself back towards the entrance so he could make the call without alerting his quarry.  As he did so, something caught his eye through the bushes to his left.  

‘What in the Lady’s name is that?’ he thought.  It was something standing in the middle of the Grove of Tranquility, where it was forbidden for any but the tending Fosters to set foot.  ‘Now they’re _really_ in trouble…’ thought Novak.  His view of the object was still partially obstructed by foliage, so he decided to move position to get a closer look. 

 

 

Nyssa’s eyes brimmed with tears and her heart swelled as she stood in the centre of the Grove and breathed in the humid night air.  On exiting the TARDIS the Doctor and Tegan had moved off to look at some particularly striking orchids, and Adric’s attention had been caught by a tree bearing a number of promising-looking fruit, leaving Nyssa alone to take in her new surroundings. 

She hadn’t expected this.  Serenity was a different planet, a completely different ecosystem to Traken, and yet… the rich, intoxicating fragrances she was now experiencing were so utterly, heart-rendingly _familiar._   Culture, clothing, language - these she had expected to be similar to, or at least vaguely recognisable as, a world from within the Union.  The rest, she was prepared to adjust to.  But _this_ … this was an immediate, intuitive, sensory recognition that struck her right to the core of her soul.  It was like stepping into the faint childhood memory of being in her mother’s arms, like… like _home_.

Her legs failing her, Nyssa sank to her knees in the middle of the clearing, and let the tears flow into the lush grass.

“Nyssa!”  Tegan ran to where her friend sat and, on seeing her tears, pulled her into a protective hug.  “Are you hurt?  What is it?”  

Nyssa, momentarily unable to speak, buried her face into the Australian girl’s shoulder.  Tegan looked round to find the Doctor and Adric close behind her, alerted by Tegan’s cry.  

“Give her a moment, Tegan,” said the Doctor quietly.  “It can sometimes be quite overwhelming to return home after so long, especially when you thought you’d never see that home ever again.  And I do believe I know whereof I speak.”  He sighed heavily.

Tegan looked at him quizzically.  “But I thought you said Serenity would be completely different to Traken?  How can a planet that Nyssa’s never been to affect her in such a way?”

Nyssa looked up, having managed to compose herself somewhat.  “This garden, Tegan,” she sniffed, “these plants and fragrances, they are from the Traken I knew.  Everything feels so _familiar_. I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect it to be like this.”  She shakily got to her feet, with Tegan’s help, and wiped her eyes.  “Doctor - as far as I know Serenity wasn’t terraformed in any way to replicate Traken - how can the ecology be so similar?”

The Doctor smiled, relieved that his young companion was unhurt and back to her scientifically inquisitive self.  “You’re quite right Nyssa. The TARDIS databanks indicated that Serenity’s climate and ecosystems are subtly different from Traken’s in a number of ways.  I suspect then, that what we are standing in is an isolated pocket of plant life that has been carefully cultivated from stock taken from your homeworld centuries ago.”  He bent down and picked up some soil, rubbing it between his fingers before giving it a cursory sniff. “They’ve probably chemically altered the soil in some way to replicate Trakenite conditions.”

“So this could be some sort of memorial then, a way of keeping a bit of Traken alive?” asked Adric.

“Exactly!”  The Doctor beamed, putting his arm around his Trakenite friend.  “It’s almost as if they knew you were coming, isn’t it Nyssa?”  He gave her shoulder a brief, cheery squeeze and took stock of their surroundings.  “Now then, what do you say we explore a bit more of Serenity, hmm?  This way, I think!”  

The Doctor set off in what appeared to the others to be a completely random direction, Adric hot on his heels.  Tegan and Nyssa hung back momentarily.

“You sure you’re alright?” asked Tegan, eyeing her friend with concern.  “You don’t have to do this if you want, you know.  It’s OK to change your mind if you don’t feel it’s right.”

Nyssa took her hand and smiled.  “Thank you, Tegan.  I’m sure I’ll be fine now I’ve gotten over the initial shock.  Now let’s catch up to the Doctor before he manages to lose himself in here!”  And with that they ran off into the trees after their companions.

 

 

Foster Novak’s energy rifle clattered to the ground as he staggered slowly backwards, his face a mask of shock.  “No…!” he gasped - “It can’t be… sweet Lady, help me!”

He stumbled over a tree root and fell backwards, still scrabbling away in terror from the large object confronting him.  Finally he managed to tear his eyes away and, scrambling to his feet, he ran through the foliage as fast as his panic-stricken legs would carry him, branches tearing at his clothing.

 

 

The Doctor and his companions emerged from a particularly dense thicket into an open area more obviously cultivated than where they had landed.  The lawns were neatly trimmed, the borders tended, and pathways running through led to an ornate central fountain that murmured quietly in the night air.  

“Ah, now this looks promising!” breathed the Doctor, and headed off up the main walkway towards an arched gateway in the near distance.

“Thank God for that!” muttered Tegan, as she reached up to pick bits of leaf and twig tangled in her hair – “I feel like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards!”

“You look like it too!” said Adric, a cheeky grin playing across his lips, then he jogged to catch up to the Doctor before Tegan could retaliate.  She set off after him as fast as her airline-issue high heels could carry her.

“Hey, wait a minute you!” she hissed, before her tirade descended into muttered threats and insults as she picked her way through the neat rows of flowers and onto the walkway in hot pursuit.

Nyssa hung back for a moment and leaned against a tree, her brow furrowed and head held to one side.  Since moving off from the TARDIS and following the initial shock and subsequent elation of her new surroundings she had begun to feel increasingly ill at ease, for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on.  There was a niggling pressure at the back of her mind, and the odd feeling that she could hear someone softly whispering.  She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, trying to focus on the faint, indistinct murmuring, but as she concentrated it ebbed away, drowned out by the babbling water and birdsong.

Opening her eyes, she shook her head and looked back through the trees, but there was no-one in sight.  ‘Maybe it was an isolated event,’ she thought, ever the scientist, and resolved to tell the Doctor should it happen again.  Satisfied that this was the best course of action, she set off in pursuit of her rapidly disappearing friends.

 

 

Prime Consul Varden sat at his paper-strewn desk and rubbed his eyes wearily.  Yawning, he turned and checked the large grandfather clock in the corner of his study – when his bleary eyes eventually focussed he was surprised to see that it was well past curfew.  He sighed and shook his head.  There just didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to complete the business of the Colony, and as Prime Consul the lion’s share of civic and democratic responsibility fell upon his fatigued shoulders.  He sat back in his ornate chair and thoughtfully stroked his lengthy beard, frowning on noticing an increasing number of grey strands nestling within the dark hairs.  

“And I’m not getting any younger,” he grunted to himself as he got up, shuffled across the floor and returned a leather-bound tome to its place in one of the many bookcases that surrounded the room.  

His eyes came to rest on an object on one of the shelves at head height.  It was a scale model of a Source Manipulator, a device that had operated many centuries ago on the Homeworld to regulate the Source and allow it to be beneficially controlled by the Keeper, who ensured the peace of the Union.  ‘A simpler time,’ he thought wistfully.  Indeed much of his responsibilities as the chief official on Serenity would simply not have existed in that glorious era known as ‘Keeper-Time’, as the all-pervasive power of the Keeper, unerringly guided by the Source, preserved the tranquillity of the entire Union in so many ways, both subtle and monumental, so as to render the need for such things as a security force or a penal system unnecessary.  

His fingers tenderly stroked the opaque white orb at the centre of the device.  Those halcyon days were long gone.  Following the loss of the Keeper and indeed the rest of the Union to the Darkness almost three centuries ago, Serenity had been thrown into chaos.  It was only through the dying efforts of the Source, reaching out to protect the place of its birth, that his homeworld had survived, and following the anarchy of the subsequent years it was only through the forceful imposition of a restrictive penal code that Serenity as a society had continued to survive.  There was also the moral subjugation imposed by the followers of the Lady of course, but that had taken decades to come to fruition, and the intervening period had necessarily been one of repressive brutality.  In any case Varden was not a believer - a fact that he kept quietly to himself.  The grotesqueness of his own position had made it increasingly impossible for him to believe in such a kind, benevolent deity, but he recognised the advantages of the faith in terms of the self-imposed moral restraint that it required.  He returned to his desk, sat down heavily and picked up his stylus to sign his last death warrant of the night.

This task was suddenly interrupted by the calamitous entry of a highly agitated Foster Novak, who came crashing through Prime Consul Varden’s heavy study door and ran up to his desk, where he leaned panting, covered in dirt and glistening with sweat.  

“What in the Lady’s name is the meaning of this, Foster?” thundered Varden, vexed at the sudden intrusion to his inner sanctum.

Novak made a vain attempt to calm his breathing before replying.  “It’s _here_ Sir, I saw it in the Gardens!  _He’s_ here!  We’ve got to _do_ something! We haven’t got much time!” 

Varden’s face descended into a deeper level of purple as he tried to decipher the feverish rantings of the Foster.  “ _What_ is here?  For Keeper’s sake, what are you drivelling on about man?” he blared, as he rounded the desk towards Novak.  

Novak’s face in contrast turned several shades whiter, but he could not let even the formidable wrath of the Prime Consul deter him from raising the alarm.

“The Blue Box, Sir!” he cried.  “I saw it!  The _Herald_ is here!”

 

 

Adric jogged in an effort to keep up with the Doctor’s fast paced stride as he headed past the fountain and towards the gate.  “Doctor?” he asked, “How is it that Serenity survived the entropy that destroyed the rest of the Union?”

The Doctor stopped suddenly, taking both Adric and Tegan – who was following closely behind – by surprise.  “Well, I’m not absolutely certain to tell the truth.”  He sighed, looking up at the stars overhead.  “I was a tad preoccupied with my regeneration at the time to fully assess the extent of the devastation caused by the Master’s actions on Logopolis.”  He turned to face his companions just as Nyssa caught up to them.  “Of course, we were reliably informed by young Mr Cwej that Serenity owes its survival due to the fact that the Source was engineered here – isn’t that right Nyssa?”

Nyssa opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by Tegan.

“‘Engineered’?  I thought this Source thing was some sort of all-powerful, mysterious ‘energy’?  Are you saying it was _man-made_?”

Nyssa smiled proudly.  “Of course it was, Tegan!  The Source _was_ all-powerful, but it was simply a sentient sun, manufactured millennia ago by the scientists here on Serenity.  For a while it functioned independently, until a Keeper was appointed to channel and direct its effects.” She laughed good-naturedly at her friend’s bewilderment.  “Did you think it was some kind of god?”

“I don’t know what I thought, really,” answered Tegan, slightly put out at being reminded once again how technologically advanced her alien friends were in comparison to herself.  “I’ve seen enough in these past few weeks to think that _anything’s_ possible!”

“My people outgrew the need for religion thousands of years ago,” said Nyssa, rather smugly.  “We simply advanced beyond the need for that particular emotional crutch.”  

“Oh, I don’t know about that, religion has some good points, Nyssa!”  The Doctor smiled.  “I for one can’t resist a good Christmas pudding… now, shall we head off?”  He resumed his brisk walk towards the gate, followed closely by his young friends.

The hinges of the time-worn gates protested noisily as the Doctor forced them open and passed through.  “Right!”  he said cheerfully, as they emerged into a large square surrounded by low level buildings, the centre of which was dominated by a large monument, topped by a statue of a female figure clad in flowing robes.  “Let’s see what Serenity has to offer, eh?”

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” 

The shout shattered the stillness of the night and halted the group in their tracks.  From behind the monument emerged a number of armed guards, each grasping an energy rifle as if their lives depended on it and shakily pointing it in the direction of the Doctor.

The Doctor sighed in exasperation as he raised his arms in the air.  “Not again…”  He sighed.  

Tegan shot him an accusing look as she copied his gesture.  “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re actually welcomed anywhere you go, Doctor!” she hissed through gritted teeth. 

One of the guards stepped forward, brandishing an energy pistol in the group’s direction.  “State your name and purpose here on Serenity, in the name of the Lady!”  he shouted, the obvious waver in his voice betraying his apparent fearfulness.

Nyssa had decided enough was enough – these were after all her people, and there was no difficulty in the Union that could not be resolved by peaceful discussion.  Before the Doctor could speak, she took a couple of paces forward, her arms spread wide and a warm smile on her face.  “Please, we intend no harm here. I am Ny–”

Tegan screamed as a bolt of energy erupted from one of the guard’s weapons and hit Nyssa full in the chest.  The Trakenite was hurled backwards by the force of the blast.  

The Doctor leapt forwards and caught his young friend as she crumpled towards the ground.  Tegan and Adric, oblivious to the weapons trained on them, rushed to the Doctor’s side as he sat on the cold, hard floor and cradled Nyssa in his arms.

“NO!” cried Tegan, as she stared at Nyssa’s motionless form. 

 

“You’ve _killed_ her!”

 


	2. A Home From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to the BFA 'Primeval' - a good listen for all Nyssa fans if you've not already heard it!

**Chapter 2 – A Home From Home**

 

For a moment no-one moved.  Tegan crouched next to where the Doctor was cradling the silent and still form of their young Trakenite friend.  She tried in vain to make a sound, but her mind was numb with shock. It was almost as if time had frozen to preserve with perfect clarity one of the most horrifying moments in Tegan’s life so far – the senseless murder of a close friend before her very eyes.  

Adric was similarly dumbstruck. The young Alzarian had experienced the harsh realities of death before, but never so unexpected, instantaneous and _unwarranted_.  A handful of seconds seemed to span an eternity as his anguished gaze alternated rapidly between Nyssa’s still features and the tormented expression of the Doctor.

At any other time the Doctor would have been quite intrigued by the apparent time-dilation phenomenon he was currently experiencing, but this was most definitely _not_ the time. Even nine centuries of life had not managed to armour him against moments such as this.  ‘Not now,’ he thought as he held Nyssa in his arms, willing her to show some signs of life – ‘not _Nyssa_ …’  

Feelings of anger and guilt began to filter through his usually dispassionate subconscious. The elevated degree of responsibility he felt towards Nyssa was something he had rarely experienced with other companions, numerous though they were, as by and large they had _chosen_ to travel with him in a way that she never had.  The fact that Nyssa had been orphaned and made homeless as a direct result of the Master’s enmity towards him, the fact that she was the last living Trakenite in the universe, had engendered a sense of duty in the Doctor that was difficult to ignore.  An unfamiliar feeling of panic begin to stir in his mind, and his fingers trembled as he felt Nyssa’s smooth, white neck for signs of a pulse.

“ON YOUR FEET!”  

The order barked from the leading guard appeared to slow and distort as it reached the ears of the trio crouched around their stricken friend.  The Doctor ignored the directive and continued to examine Nyssa, his head bent low over her still features as he listened for some sign of respiration.  

Adric, in contrast, leapt to his feet, his face a mask of anger and outrage, his fists clenched as he fought the urge to blindly retaliate against the hostile force arranged in front of him.  

Tegan looked up, tears rolling down grief-stricken face.  “How _could_ you?” she demanded of the nearest guard, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and anguish.  “You’re supposed to be civilised – how could you kill a defenceless girl in cold blood?”  She got to her feet and glared accusingly at the guards, most of whom nervously shifted their aim towards her in response – “You’re just a bunch of _savages_!” she spat, as she wiped a hand across her face and took a stance next to Adric.

The head guard, whose authority could now be perceived by the ornate crest on his collar and the fact that he was the only one of the company who had not discernibly backed off following Tegan’s tirade, raised his rifle and aimed directly at the Doctor’s head.

“STAND UP!” he bellowed, “OR YOU WILL SHARE IN HER FATE!”

The Doctor sighed in irritated resignation, then, after fixing the head guard with a contemptuous stare, he carefully lowered Nyssa’s inert form to the ground and backed away.  A gentle hand on Tegan and Adric’s arm indicated for them to follow his lead.  

Tegan whipped her arm from his reach and turned to him in protest.  “Doctor – _NO_!  We have to _help_ her!”  Tears flowed freely down Tegan’s anguished features as she looked to the Doctor in desperation.  “ _Please_ …there must be something you can do – you can’t just let her _die_ like this!”  

The Doctor, rightly sensing that Tegan was on the verge of hysteria, took her by the shoulders and spoke to her with the rarely used but unshakeable authority of a former Lord President of Gallifrey:  “ _Tegan_!  Neither you nor I can argue against twenty armed guards!  Now _move back_ before you get hurt too!”  His voice softened as Tegan crumpled against his shoulder.  “There’s nothing you can do for her…please trust me.”  

Tegan continued to sob quietly but didn’t protest when the Doctor gently steered her back, a safe distance from the bristling weapons of the increasingly nervous guards.  

Adric was still trembling with impotent rage, but he managed to control himself and follow the Doctor’s lead.

The head guard, who had followed this exchange with barely concealed contempt, nodded to his men, a number of whom moved forward and unceremoniously cuffed the three upright offenders. A second gestured command sent a further contingent forward; shouldering their weapons they lifted Nyssa up and bore her slender form between them.  

“Foster Novak!” the leader shouted.  

Novak hurriedly stepped forward from the party surrounding the TARDIS crew and stood to attention before his commanding officer. “The prisoners are secure, Proctor Morovan – awaiting your orders.”  Novak nodded curtly.

“Excellent.  Take these three to the Penal Wing, and the girl to the Infirmary.  And inform Prime Consul Varden that the situation has been contained!”  

The Proctor surveyed his captives with disdain as they filed past.  “Savages are we?”  he sneered, turning towards the group of Fosters at his back – “Let’s see how they enjoy some sophisticated Serenite hospitality!”  

 

 

A loud hammering at his office door interrupted Varden from his thoughts and quieted the slow, deliberate pacing back and forth he had commenced as soon as Novak had left the room.  Before he could voice his authorisation the door opened, and a short, rotund, elaborately adorned man entered the Prime Consul’s chamber.  

The newcomer wore long, flowing emerald green robes, his hairless head was capped with an ornately brocaded black skullcap, and he was accompanied by two attendants, who were clad head to toe in all-encompassing hooded white robes.  Without taking his eyes from Prime Consul Varden he lifted two plump fingers and indicated towards the still open door.  His attendants silently turned, exited the chamber and closed the door behind them, before taking up position on either side of the entrance.

The Prime Consul turned and approached his guest, making the customary greeting by raising a closed hand to his brow.  “Procardinal Jonaris, what an unexpected pleasure to see you at this late hour.”  He nodded his head in deference to the clergyman before him and smiled – “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The Procardinal returned the greeting but failed to reciprocate the Prime Consul’s smile.  “You may dispense with the pleasantries Varden,” he intoned in a low, melodious voice – “we haven’t the time.  Now would you be so kind as to tell me the whereabouts of the _Herald_?”

Varden frowned, all pretence of cordiality abandoned.  “What do you know of the Herald, Jonaris?  It appears someone has been speaking out of turn.”  ‘And whoever it was will be appropriately punished’, he thought to himself.  “As far as I know the Herald has not been seen for centuries, presumably by the good graces of the Lady,” – he touched his brow once more – “and hopefully she will kindly see to it that he is never seen again, given the consequences of such an appearance.”  Varden turned and casually took his seat behind his desk, his long fingers steepled in front of him, his calm exterior not hinting at the frantic deliberations going on behind his eyes.

The clergyman, who had been absent-mindedly playing with a bejewelled symbol that hung around his substantial neck by a thick chain, looked at the Prime Consul with increasing irritation.

“Don’t play games with me Varden!” he growled, his complexion growing more purple by the second.  He dropped the pendant – an opaque jewel surrounded by a single circle of gold – from his grasp and leaned over the paper-strewn desk.  “We both know there is nothing happens on Serenity that escapes the notice of the Order.  I know that off-worlders arrived in the Remembrance Gardens tonight, and I know their method of ‘transport’.  Also, as Procardinal of the Order, I am _fully_ aware of the protocols governing this eventuality as, I know, are _you_.”  His face was inches away from the Prime Consul’s now.  “This is a _religious_ matter Varden, and you know full well you have no jurisdiction here.  Now I DEMAND that you turn these off-worlders over to the Order!”  Papers and styluses jumped into the air as Jonaris thumped his meaty fist onto the desk.

Varden quickly rose to his full height, forcing the clergyman to step back in surprise.  “Protocol WILL be followed, my dear Procardinal, as soon as we have fully established the identities of the prisoners!  Now I absolutely _refuse_ to cause a colony-wide panic until that process is fully completed to my satisfaction, and I will NOT, under any circumstances, be browbeaten into handing these people over to a bunch of narrow-minded zealots until I am certain of the _facts_!  Is that _clear_?”  

The Prime Consul took a deep breath, resumed his seat, and lowered his voice to its usual level.  “Now, as a concession to your undisputed religious authority over Serenity, I will permit you to attend the inquisition.  You will, however, agree to defer to my authority in this matter.”  

Jonaris’ complexion deepened once more and he took a deep breath in order to retaliate, but was silenced by Varden’s quickly raised finger – “Should it become clear that we are, indeed, in the presence of the Herald I will of course comply with the protocols _immediately_ , and the prisoners will be yours to deal with in accordance with scripture.  Agreed?”

The Procardinal’s cheeks returned to their usual colour and he reluctantly relaxed his aggressive posture.  “It seems I have little choice in the matter.  However a short delay in the fulfilment of the prophecies will not cause undue hardship.  Indeed, it will give the Order time to make the necessary preparations!”  And with that he opened the heavy door and swept out of the chamber, quickly followed by his startled attendants.

Varden sat back in his seat, deflated.  “Yes, Jonaris,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Go and sharpen your blades.”

 

 

The Doctor, Tegan and Adric stood rubbing their wrists after being unceremoniously thrown into a barred cell, where their cuffs were removed.  A Foster completed their incarceration by slamming the cell door shut and entering a code into the electronic lock.

“Thank you so much!”  The Doctor smiled, raising his hat.  “Absolutely the best cell I’ve ever been in!”  

The Foster made no reply, and exited the cell block, leaving the trio alone.  

“And I’ve been in a few, I can tell you….” the Doctor murmured as he surveyed their new surroundings.  

As they had been marched through the Penal Wing they had gone past a great number of fully occupied cells, however they had ended up in a block separated from the rest, and noticeably less densely populated.  The large room they were in housed only two cells, and they were the only residents.  Their own cell was quite spacious, with four bunks, a table and chairs and rudimentary washing facilities.  They were separated from the other cell by sturdy iron bars, which also formed the front of their ‘accommodation’.  A small barred window gave scant access to the night air.  

The Doctor laid down on one of the lower bunks, put his hands behind his head and smiled.  Adric glumly sat at the table, his head in his hands.

Tegan stood and looked at the Doctor in confusion, unable to understand how he could appear to be so relaxed and _happy_ following the events of the last hour.  They had been shot at, arrested, manacled and imprisoned, but this of course paled into insignificance next to the total despair that Tegan was feeling at the loss of Nyssa.   She turned to face the Doctor with tear-filled eyes.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me _what_ you’re smiling at?  Need I remind you, Doctor, that Nyssa is _dead?_ ” she sobbed, “And that we have been taken prisoner and locked up for the umpteenth time since I had the misfortune to meet you?  Because at the moment it’s quite hard for me to believe that you have ONE heart, let alone two!”  She sank onto the opposite bunk, her face in her hands.

Adric quickly moved to sit on the bunk next to Tegan, and awkwardly put his arm around her in comfort, whilst glaring mutinously at the Doctor.

The Doctor sighed, and then quickly sat up to face his young friends.  “Nyssa will be fine, Tegan,” he said quietly, “I’m sure she’s in good hands.”

Tegan looked at the Doctor incredulously, but it was Adric who replied.  

Up until now he had always had complete faith in the opinions and abilities of his mentor, but this particular opinion required a suspension of disbelief that even he was incapable of.  

“How can you _say_ that Doctor?!” he cried, his voice wavering.  “Nyssa wasn’t _breathing_.  And you…..you just gave up on her.  The Doctor I met on Alzarius would never have done that.  _Never!_ ”  Adric angrily looked away, trying to hide the fact that he was verging on tears.

The Doctor rubbed his face wearily.  “I did no such thing Adric, and I’m frankly a little hurt that either of you could even think that.”  He got to his feet and peered out of the tiny window.  “As you both get older, you will hopefully realise two things: the first of these is that there are some battles that cannot be won.  The second is that emotion is the enemy of reason – had you both been slightly less concerned with your own feelings and paid more attention to the _facts_ of the situation then you may have noticed the slight time distortion that occurred immediately after Nyssa was shot, and which diminished as we stepped back from where she lay.”  He turned back towards his companions, his hands in his pockets.  “This indicated to me that Nyssa was hit, not by an energy weapon, but by a beam that caused very localised temporal deceleration.”

Adric frowned.  “A _stasis_ beam?”

“Exactly, Adric!”  The Doctor’s face broke into a broad smile once more.  

Tegan, however, remained despondent.  “Would anyone like to explain this to me in English?” she pleaded.  

The Doctor jumped in before Adric could begin to explain the workings of the TARDIS translation field.

“A stasis beam, Tegan, slows time to almost a standstill within a very small area, in this case Nyssa’s body.  That’s why, just after the blast, a few seconds seemed to span an eternity – our close proximity to Nyssa meant we felt the effects of the stasis field, albeit to a much lesser extent.  That’s also why she appeared not to be breathing – she was, just at an incredibly slow rate, imperceptible to us outside the field.”

“So it’s as if she’s ‘frozen in time’?”  asked Tegan.

The Doctor nodded.  

“So how do we _unfreeze_ her?”

“Well,” pondered the Doctor, “the initial burst only has a limited effect, so Nyssa could be waking up any time soon.  There _should_ be no ill effects… however stasis weaponry has proven to be quite unpredictable… it was banned on Gallifrey, and the Rutans…”

Adric, sensing the Doctor was about to head off on one of his rambling historical tangents, decided to interrupt.  “So what do we do now, Doctor?”  His youthful grin returned, his concern for Nyssa appeased and faith in the Doctor restored.  “Escape?  I could get to work on that lock!” he said, eagerly jumping to his feet.

“I think not, Adric, at least not for the moment.  Remember our purpose here – Nyssa wants to settle on Serenity, so this isn’t something we can just run away from.  However we do have a problem we need to attend to.”  The Doctor’s brow furrowed as he thought out loud.  “Nyssa will regain consciousness, and within the next hour I should think.”    

Tegan looked up.  “And that’s a problem?”

“A potential one, yes. She is likely to be somewhat disorientated, and if she happens to mention that she is actually a native of a planet that was destroyed over three centuries ago that may just raise some rather awkward questions, wouldn’t you say?”  He thrust his hands into his pockets and strode over to the bars, looking out through the door of the block to the guard station beyond.  “Aside from that, I would really like to make sure she hasn’t suffered any harmful effects from the stasis beam.  Now, what I suggest is this….”

But before the Doctor could turn round and elucidate his plan he was startled by a dull thud from behind him.  He whirled round to find Tegan, sprawled unconscious on the cell floor.

 

 

Nyssa was floating. 

That is, she _thought_ she was floating, but what she was floating _in_ was an entirely different matter.  Her eyes were closed, but opening them had made little difference, she had found.  There was just blackness – no, not _blackness_ , she thought, as the description of colour denoted the _existence_ of something. This was more like nothingness, _emptiness_. 

At least it had felt like emptiness at first.  Recalling the events in the garden she had wondered if she had actually died, and passed into some form of ‘afterlife’.  She had quickly dispelled this notion however; although never a believer in a structured religion Nyssa had entertained some notions of spirituality, particularly after the death of her father.  She felt certain that, if there _were_ an afterlife, she was certain to be reunited with him there.  But there was no echo of Tremas here, in the emptiness.  And the _presence_ she felt was certainly _not_ that of a beloved father.

She had, after a while, become aware of voices in the nothingness – they had crept into her consciousness so gradually that it seemed as if they had always been there, and yet the recognition of their existence still took her by surprise.  They were, she thought, the same voices she had heard in the garden, but where those had been indistinct whispers, words lost on the breeze, the voices here had become louder, more pleading in quality.  Yet she still couldn’t make them out; she had tried to isolate different threads, patterns, but there were just too many, and the words seemed to be slowed and distorted in some way.

It was after concentrating for what seemed like hours on trying to identify a single word in the confused muttering that Nyssa’s mind touched upon the presence.  

It was fleeting initially, a momentary touch in the middle of that all-encompassing void.  After so long listening to unresponsive, disembodied voices the contact shocked Nyssa like a jolt of electricity.  Then it was gone, and Nyssa wasn’t even sure if it – whatever _it_ was – had even noticed her.  Realising that this communication could be her only way out, she tentatively called out.

“Hello?  Is there someone there?” Her voice seemed to dissolve into the inky darkness.  “Please – can you help me?”

There was no response, nothing but the unrelenting, intangible chatter out in the void.  In desperation she tried reaching out with her mind, sending her thoughts out into the abyss in the vain hope that the presence – whatever it was – might be able to communicate on a telepathic level.  But there was nothing, no connection, just the infinite night.  

Nyssa curled up tightly into a ball as she floated, and silently wept.

 

 

“Tegan!” Adric shouted in alarm and rushed to where she lay, crumpled, on the floor of the cell.  

The Doctor was quick to join him, crouching by the head of his fallen companion, his fingers searching her neck for signs of a pulse.  He lowered his ear to her mouth to check for respiration.

“ _There’s no need for that – I’m alright!_ ”  

Tegan’s whisper, though barely audible, took the Doctor by surprise.  “ _I’m going to find Nyssa.  Now stop looking down my blouse, and get the guards!_ ”

The Doctor allowed himself a brief grin before springing to his feet and banging on the cell bars to gain the attention of the Fosters stationed just outside the room.  

Tegan half opened her eyes, saw the concerned face of Adric hovering above her, and gave him a wink before returning to her feigned unconsciousness.  Realisation dawned and Adric joined the Doctor’s efforts.

Alerted by the commotion, two Fosters ran into the room, weapons in hand.  The Doctor quickly indicated where Tegan lay.

“Please, my companion has collapsed.  She needs medical help, _quickly!_ ”

The Fosters looked at each other, unsure as to how to deal with the situation. “Stay here,” said one eventually.  “I’ll contact the Proctor.”  He returned to the guard station outside the cell whilst the other shakily covered the prisoners with his rifle.

“It’s a DOCTOR we need, not a Proctor!” shouted Adric angrily – “Can’t you see she’s ill?!” 

The first Foster quickly returned, followed by a number of his fellow guards, all armed and eyeing the Doctor and Adric with intense suspicion. 

“Proctor Morovan has agreed for the girl to be removed and examined,” he told his companion – “she is not the threat here.”  He turned and addressed the cell occupants: “You will turn and face the back wall, with your hands on your heads!”

The Doctor and Adric hastily complied, and half of the company entered the cell and unceremoniously picked up the motionless Tegan, placing her on a stretcher before carrying her hurriedly out of the block, all the while covered by the weapons of the remaining Fosters. 

The cell door banged home again, and the code was re-entered before the Fosters once more retreated to the safety of their station, leaving the Doctor and Adric alone.

“A slight element of overkill, don’t you think?” said the Doctor, returning to his bunk.  “I wonder what it is we’ve done to deserve such treatment?” 

“Who knows?” said Adric glumly.  “Where you’re concerned Doctor, it could be anything.”

The Doctor frowned.  “I am beginning to resent the implication that I cause trouble wherever I go!  I have visited a great, great many places, and not all those visits have resulted in my being taken prisoner or shot at!”

Adric rolled his eyes.  “Of course not Doctor.  Just _most_ of them.”  He sat on the opposite bunk and quickly changed the subject before the Doctor could reply: “So what do we do now?  Shall I get to work on that code?”

“Well, with Tegan gone…” the Doctor relaxed back onto his bunk and placed his hat over his face, “I suggest we enjoy the peace and quiet!”

 

 

In a darkened, underground chamber a small distance from the Penal Wing, a clandestine ceremony was taking place.  Torchlight flickered as a dozen acolytes, dressed in the flowing hooded robes of the Order, sat in a circle on the stone floor and engaged in muttered prayer, their heads bowed.

Shadows leapt, and the acolytes looked up as someone entered the chamber, flanked by two additional white-robed youths.  The man they accompanied was taller than the rest, which gave the impression of seniority of age and rank.  He too was swathed head to foot in loose robes, but his were a deep grey in colour, contrasting against the pure white of his companions.  His face was partially covered by the hood of his robes, the rest hidden in shadow.  He came to a halt in front of the circle of acolytes, who ceased their invocations and looked up at him expectantly.  The grey priest raised his arms to address them.

“Brothers – the time is now.” His voice resonated across the chamber, echoes dancing like the torchlight. “The moment we have long prepared for is here.  I have word that the Herald is in our midst.  Our time-worn shackles will soon be broken!”  He raised his arms in exultation, his movements mirrored by his awestruck congregation.

“But even now, my Brothers, there are forces at work against us.  We must move quickly to ensure that all is not lost.  Come, Brethren – follow me and we shall fulfil our sacred trust, or perish in the attempt!”  

The stone walls reverberated with the clamorous cheers of the devout, as they followed their leader out into the darkness.

 

 

Nyssa had lost all comprehension of time.  Had it been days since she had awoken in the darkness, or a matter of minutes?  It felt as if she had been curled up in her foetal ball for hours, her mind sinking further and further into a well of hopelessness.  She had gone through the events of the past day in her mind a thousand times, each time pointing the finger of blame squarely upon herself.  Why had she pressed the Doctor to bring her to Serenity?  She had created a home, a family of sorts in the TARDIS, why couldn’t that have been enough for her?  Why had she felt the need to confront the guards, armed though they were?  She could only come to the conclusion that she was in this mess due to her own selfishness and naivety.  And with these thoughts the blackness of the void seemed to creep into her mind, filling her heart with despair.

It was in the midst of this depression that she felt the presence return.  

At first it was as if something moved past her in the darkness, and she almost felt a ghostly draft on her cheek as it went by.  In her distress she instinctively reached out for whatever it was, and in that instant she sensed that the entity had noticed her, because within seconds it had returned, reaching out to touch her mind, encircling her in the emptiness.  

Nyssa began to feel cold as the realisation dawned that this was no benign contact, and her desperate hope of help in the darkness began to evaporate.  She felt an increasing pressure in her mind as the presence forcibly pushed its way into her thoughts.  She got the impression it was revelling in her anguish, that it had been attracted back to her through the void via her misery.  

Gasping in horror, Nyssa closed her eyes tightly as she heard a faint, chilling laugh weaving through the back of her mind, getting louder as it examined the depths of her depression.  Once she had felt it rifle through her most treasured memories, her most intimate thoughts and fears, she finally heard its voice inside her head – a deep, guttural voice unlike any she had heard before…

“Fear not, last daughter of Traken. The time is not now.  But we shall meet again, you and I, in the darkness.  Until then, open your mind and receive my gift…”

The voice tailed off into the emptiness, and Nyssa’s skin crawled in terror as she felt the inexorable pressure build up in her mind.  She felt the entity reach down into the deepest, primordial regions of her brain…

Nyssa screamed as the darkness exploded into pure, brilliant light.

 

 

Suren rubbed his neck and sighed.  He had spent the last three years working in the Infirmary, and the five before that in apprenticeship to his father to enable him to qualify as a medic, but in all those years he had never experienced a stranger sequence of events or range of patients than those he had been presented with in the last few hours.

The latter of the two patients was the stranger of the two.  She had been brought in on a stretcher by two armed Fosters, who explained that she had collapsed in the Penal Wing before leaving the treatment room to take up residence outside the door alongside a number of their colleagues, who had been stationed there since arriving with the first patient an hour earlier.  This woman was dressed in extraordinarily strange attire the likes of which Suren had never seen before, and the enigma that she presented deepened when the medicom revealed that it could find no match for her DNA pattern within its extensive databanks.  After a cursory examination Suren was also at a loss to find out what was causing her unconsciousness, and so had set the medicom running on a full diagnostic analysis.  However given that the antiquated machine could not even identify her planet of origin he had little confidence in its ability to pinpoint what was actually wrong with her.  Unable to do more, he returned to his first patient.

Although puzzled by the exotic nature of the second woman, Suren found the first a great deal more intriguing.   Her attire, though somehow antiquated, had been much more familiar to Suren. However the burgundy velvet garments now hung in the storage bay next to the treatment bed where she lay, still insentient, her modesty preserved by a white linen sheet as the treatment arch hummed above her upper torso.   Unlike the other patient, the cause of her unconsciousness was immediately recognisable to Suren, and although her attendant Fosters had divulged very little about the nature of her injuries he had (unfortunately) extensive experience in dealing with the after-effects of their stasis weaponry.  The large and livid bruise on her chest was diagnosis enough, and Suren had instructed the medicom to begin treatment on this within minutes of her arrival, along with the hairline fractures to two of her ribs that the diagnostic function had detected a moment later.  

However there were two things that the tall, dark-haired young medic had found intriguing about the young woman laid out in front of him:  the first being the wildly erratic brain waves recorded by the medicom within the last few minutes, and the second being the impossible results of her DNA scan.  

Her brain function seemed to have settled however, and the unprecedented spikes of activity within her parietal lobes that had occurred moments ago had now fallen into a more rhythmic, albeit still _unusual,_ pattern.  

Satisfied with her renewed stability, Suren turned his attention to the DNA report flickering on the viewscreen in front of him, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.  He had checked and rechecked the results, but the outcome had remained the same - inexplicable.  Finally, unable to comprehend what the consequences of his findings might be, and prevented from further investigation by a deplorable lack of equipment, Suren decided that he had better inform the Prime Consul of the situation.

He was just heading towards the door and the Fosters beyond when a slight noise from across the room stopped him in his tracks.

“ _Wait!_ ”

Suren span on his heel.  The second woman was awake.  Not just awake, but upright, and methodically disconnecting herself from the medicom.  She looked at Suren’s shocked expression and smiled.

“Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

 

 

Adric was bored.  The Doctor had indeed taken full advantage of Tegan’s absence and the resultant tranquillity, as evidenced by the loud, reverberating snores coming from underneath his hat.  However the young Alzarian, hampered by his teenage exuberance, began to find it impossible to sit still.  He had finally taken to pacing around the walls of the cell, until his eyes fell upon the electronically coded lock securing the door.  ‘Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try…’ he thought, as he put his arm though a gap in the bars and started to tamper with the mechanism.

“Do you _ever_ do as you’re told, Adric?”

The boy whipped his arm back through the bars as though his fingers had been burnt, managing to bang his elbow in the process.  He petulantly turned towards the Doctor, and was surprised to see him still laid on the bunk, his face covered by his hat.  

“Well, I’m _bored_ Doctor, and there’s nothing else to do!  I was only going to see if I could crack the combination, I wasn’t going to _go_ anywhere!”  Adric rubbed his arm, his face betraying his frustration at their enforced lack of activity.

The Doctor uncovered his face and sat up.  “And how exactly would you have explained our unlocked door to our friendly neighbourhood captors out there, hmmm?”

Adric said nothing, just moodily returned to his bunk, sat down heavily, and folded his arms.  “I don’t know why Nyssa wanted to come here anyway,” he grumbled.  “Traken was dull enough as it was, and this place hasn’t even got a Keeper or the Source to liven things up!”

The Doctor sighed, trying to be patient with his young friend.  “Home is where the heart is, Adric.  I’m sure Nyssa wouldn’t think much of Alzarius either, unless she has a particular penchant for enormous spiders and homicidal marshmen…”

Adric glared at the Doctor in indignation and had opened his mouth to defend his former home, but was cut off before he could begin.

“You didn’t really want her to leave in the first place, did you?”  The Doctor raised his eyebrows and looked at Adric sympathetically.  “Listen Adric, it’s only natural that you might be experiencing certain, um, _feelings_ towards Nyssa - you have lots in common after all - but you can’t blame her for wanting to leave the TARDIS and make a life elsewhere, and you shouldn’t allow your… ah… _feelings_ get in the way of her happiness…”  The Time Lord’s awkward ramblings were cut short by Adric, blushing furiously and getting to his feet.  He turned his back on the Doctor and began to fervently tamper with the electronic lock once more.

“Don’t be silly Doctor!  I can’t wait till her and Tegan have gone and it’s just you and me again, visiting _interesting_ places for a change without having to put up with irritating _females_!” he spat, trying to distance himself from the conversation as far as possible.

The Doctor smiled, guessing he had hit a raw nerve.  Though many centuries had passed since he had exercised his parenting skills with respect to adolescents, he still knew instinctively when to leave well alone.  He sensed a change of subject was in order.

“You know what I’m wondering, Adric?”  

The boy was still intensely focussed upon the door lock, unwilling to make eye contact with the Doctor. 

“If the Source was indeed created on Serenity, why haven’t they reconstructed it, hmm?”

“You, of all people, should know that.”  

The Doctor leapt to his feet in surprise as Proctor Morovan strode into the cell block.

“Cuff them.” As his attending Fosters entered the cell and bound the prisoners, Morovan sneered at them:  “You’ll be pleased to know that your inquisition awaits you.  Fosters!  Escort the prisoners to the Sanctum!” 

  The Doctor winced as his wrists were secured tightly together in front of him.  “And are we permitted to know the nature of our crime?” he enquired politely.

“As if you didn’t know!” the Proctor replied, shaking his head in disgust.  “MOVE OUT!”

The Doctor began to wonder whether his current policy of friendly co-operation was working out as, for the second time in as many hours, they were surrounded by armed guards and frogmarched at gunpoint.

 

 

“How is she?” Tegan asked as she stood over Nyssa’s bed, surveying the medical equipment her friend was attached to with concern.

Suren rechecked the medicom readouts.  “She’ll be fine,” he reassured her, “there’s some localised bruising and a couple of cracked ribs where the beam impacted, but nothing the medicom can’t handle. There should be no long term damage.”  He looked at Tegan in confusion.  “You, on the other hand, seem to have made a remarkable recovery.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that.”  She smiled disarmingly.  “I had to make sure she was OK.”  She returned her attention to Nyssa and stroked the hair back from her forehead tenderly.  

Suren watched the interaction with fascination. “What is she to you?  A friend?  A sister?”

Tegan smiled without taking her eyes from Nyssa’s sleeping face.  “Neither... and both, I suppose.  We travel together.  I’ve only known her a few weeks really, but we’ve been through a lot.  We’ve become quite close, I guess.”

“That’s obvious.” Suren returned his attention to the viewscreen, apparently engrossed in the readouts displayed.  “So where are you both from?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Oh, my planet is so insignificant I doubt you’ve ever heard of it.  And Nyssa here, well… I’ll let her tell you when she eventually wakes up.  When do you think–”  Tegan’s voice trailed off as she looked at Suren.  He was backing away from her, the colour draining from his face.  

“W-what did you say her name was?” he stammered, bumping into a console on the far side of the room.

Tegan looked at the young medic in bewilderment.  “It’s ‘Nyssa’... why are you looking at me like that?”

Suren merely stared at her, open mouthed, unable to reply.  

The silence was broken by a groan from the direction of the bed, as Nyssa’s eyelids began to flutter.

Tegan’s face lit up. “She’s waking up!”

 

 

The short march from the Penal Wing to the Sanctum had turned into something of an unexpected ordeal for the Doctor and Adric, and also for their escorts.  Word had evidently got round as to who they were and what they had done, (even though this was still information that the prisoners themselves were blissfully unaware of) as on exiting the prison block the party was greeted by a hostile, baying crowd, several hundred citizens strong.  The Fosters, despite calling for reinforcements, were having trouble keeping the crowd contained, and the Doctor and Adric were hurriedly marched past leering, angry faces, hurling obscenities that even the TARDIS couldn’t translate, along with the odd stone and mouldy vegetable.  The Doctor moved closer to his young friend.

“Adric,” he hissed, trying to make himself heard over the clamour, “I am beginning to rethink my policy against escaping from our current situation.”

“You don’t say!”  Adric ducked to avoid a flying missile.  “So what’s the plan?”

“I’ll try to cause a diversion in a moment.  Try and use the opportunity to disappear into the crowd.  Make your way back to the TARDIS, where we’ll regroup and formulate a plan to rescue Nyssa and Tegan.  Got it?”

“Got it.”  Adric nodded grimly, clenching his manacled fists.

The ‘diversion’ took even the young Alzarian by surprise as a few strides later the Doctor abruptly disappeared from view.  When Adric looked, however, he had merely crouched down and appeared to be fumbling with his shoes.

“Sorry!  Shoelace!”  The Doctor shouted as the Fosters behind nearly fell over the hunched over Time Lord.  

Adric rolled his eyes as the Fosters in front slowly realised what was happening and began to bring their weapons to bear on the situation.  “Ingenious!” he muttered under his breath, before scanning the surrounding guards for an opportunity to flee.  

Before he could make his break however, a loud, piercing scream came from somewhere in front of their party.  Adric turned to look, to be confronted by a dishevelled, wild-eyed woman who was running towards them, a knife raised above her head as she emitted a banshee-like wail.

The next few moments were a blur as pandemonium erupted. Adric watched as the Fosters turned their energy rifles on the woman, cutting her down in a hail of fire before she could reach the escort party.  A moment later he felt a sharp pain to the back of his head, and the world turned black.

“What on Gallifrey was that?”  The Doctor’s head popped back up from his crouched position, too distracted by events to take advantage of his own diversion.  “Adric?  What’s going on?  Adric?”  He turned round to be confronted by a dozen energy rifles pointed at his face.

But Adric had gone.

 

 

“Nyssa?  Can you hear me?  Are you OK?”  

Tegan waited anxiously as her friend continued to moan, before opening her pale green eyes to eventually focus on the Australian woman’s face.  

Nyssa’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Tegan?  What happened?  Where are we?”  She put a hand to her head and attempted to sit up.  “I feel _awful_.”

“Whoa there!  Steady Nyssa, you might want to stay where you are for a minute.” Tegan gently helped her friend lower her head back to her pillow as she winced in pain, clutching her ribs.  “Besides, you’re not really, erm, _suitably attired_ for walking around yet!”

Nyssa looked down at the flimsy sheet covering her torso.  “Where are my clothes?” she gasped.  “Tegan, what happened?  The last thing I remember is walking through the gardens, then…”  She closed her eyes and frowned.  “My head is buzzing.  I can’t seem to concentrate…”

“Don’t worry Nyssa, you’re going to be fine.  The Doctor said you might feel a bit disorientated.  And Suren here has been fixing your ribs, isn’t that right Suren…?”  

Tegan looked round to find the medic on his knees, his eyes closed tightly as he murmured to himself.  But just as she was about to question his increasingly strange behaviour she was interrupted by one of the Fosters on guard duty bursting into the room.

“Medic Suren!  All hell’s breaking loose near the Penal Wing – we’re being called up as reinforcements.  You’re in charge of these two – don’t let them leave the medical bay!”  And without further ado he turned and left, taking the remaining Fosters with him.

“You know, for a place called ‘Serenity’, it’s not particularly serene round here!”  Tegan confronted Suren – “What the heck is going on?!”

The kneeling medic turned to look at his patients-cum-captives in stunned silence.  He had definitely had better days.

 

 

Proctor Morovan had managed to rally his reinforced Fosters and make it to the safety of the Sanctum with his one remaining prisoner, before barring the doors to keep the angry mob at bay.  

“Drevus!” he barked quickly to his second-in-command – “Take a squad out by the postern gate and start a search for the Boy!”  

Fighting to regain his composure, he turned to the austere panel of Consuls arranged before him as a number of his men disappeared into the shadows towards the rear of the Sanctum.  “Word has somehow got out of the nature of our prisoners, your Worships, and a crowd has gathered.  The Boy managed to escape in the melee, but my men will soon track him down.”  The Proctor bowed deeply.

“See that they do, Morovan…  considering what is at stake.” 

 

 

The Doctor took in the relative calm of his new surroundings.  The stone-walled chamber was large and imposing, with sculpted, high vaulted ceilings and tapestry-hung alcoves.  Seven ornately carved chairs were arranged in an arc in front of what appeared to be a smaller inner chamber, which housed an impressive throne encased by translucent walls on each side.  The throne was empty, but the chairs in front were occupied by a number of imposingly-attired men and women.  

The Time Lord frowned, experiencing a strong sense of _deja-vu_.  Then he realised – he was standing in an exact copy of the Keeper’s Sanctum, as it had stood on Traken.  Here though, the inner chamber was dark, and where once on Traken a flame had burned brightly with the vitality of the Source, here the hearth was cold and lifeless.  He turned his attention to the people ranged before him, to find seven pairs of eyes fixed upon him, expectantly.

The Doctor stepped forward, his face breaking in to a broad smile.  “Ah, good evening.  A pleasure to meet you all, I’m the Doctor.  I presume I have the honour of addressing the Consuls of Serenity…?”

“I am Prime Consul Varden, and _you_ , Sir, will remain silent until I permit you to speak.”  The speaker’s voice was calm and collected, but it resonated around the Sanctum with an unmistakable sense of power.

“Absolutely,” replied the Doctor, turning to face the man in the centre of the row.  “However, could I just enquire – are the manacles strictly necessary?  Surely whatever the problem is can be cleared up without the need for physical restraint…?”

Varden signalled to the Proctor and the Doctor’s address was cut short as a jolt of pain suddenly shot down his arms and forced him momentarily to his knees.

“Ah.  Stun cuffs.  I see.”  The Doctor slowly got to his feet.  It was going to be a long night.

 

 

Nyssa had finally managed to struggle to a seated position with Tegan’s help, one hand clasping the sheet to her chest to preserve her modesty.  She looked towards where Suren still knelt, stammering and stuttering in response to Tegan’s insistent questioning.  For a brief moment his eyes met her own, but he immediately looked away, seemingly unable to hold her gaze.  “What’s the matter with him?” Nyssa asked – “Why won’t he look at me?” 

Tegan shrugged.  “Search me.  One minute he’s asking where we’re from, and the next he’s on his knees!  I tell you what Nyssa, you might want to have a rethink about this place… from what I’ve seen so far I’m not entirely sure everyone’s playing with a full deck of cards, know what I mean?”

It was clear Nyssa didn’t, but for once she chose to ignore Tegan’s strange turn of phrase.  “Tegan, you didn’t _tell_ him about my homeworld, did you?”

Before Tegan could respond Suren spoke, his eyes fixed upon the floor.

“Traken.  Y-you’re from Traken.”

The two girls looked at him in shock.  “How…?”  Nyssa gasped.

“I-I did a routine DNA scan after you were brought in,”  he stammered.  “I thought the medicom was mistaken at first… I mean… the results were… well… _impossible!_   B-but then she said your… your _name._ ” 

 

 

Several jolts of electricity later, the Doctor had finally been subdued into an uncharacteristic silence.  Prime Consul Varden rose to his feet, straightening his long, velvet robes as he turned to address the assembly.  

“In the glorious days of the Keeper, our task here tonight would have been a simple one.  Through the trial of Rapport the almighty power of the Source would have revealed the truth, and justice would have been swiftly executed.  Now we are not so fortunate, yet still we may call to a higher power.  Hence I invoke the beneficent Lady:  guide us in this Inquisition, lead us to the truth so that your bountiful peace may be restored.”  The Prime Consul raised his arms in exultation, and his co-inquisitors touched their brows in accord.  He then fixed his baleful stare firmly upon the Doctor.

 

 

Nyssa closed her eyes and frowned as the buzzing in her head momentarily swelled, but the surge was short lived and she immediately returned her attention to the trembling Suren, who was again being questioned by an increasingly irate Tegan.

“What’s wrong with her _name_?”  she asked, hands on hips.

“It… it is forbidden to even speak it.”  He looked at Nyssa, eyes wide in fear.  “Forgive me my Lady, please!  I didn’t know!  I didn’t know who you were!”  He fell forward, and lay prostrate in front of the astounded Trakenite.

“And who, exactly, _is_ she?”  Tegan crouched next to the medic, but even so could barely hear his response as he pressed his face to the floor.

“Sh-she… she is the _Goddess!_ ”

 

 

Varden raised his finger and pointed accusingly at the Doctor.  His voice echoed ominously around the Sanctum.

“Doctor… Herald… however you choose to title yourself.  _You are hereby accused of the genocide of forty-five billion people_.  How do you plead?”

 


	3. A Serene Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events take a turn for the worse on Serenity as Nyssa and Adric learn of their role in Serenite history, and the Doctor finds himself on trial for his life...

**Chapter 3 – A Serene Inquisition**

 

Though some distance apart, The Doctor, Nyssa and Tegan spoke simultaneously:

“ _What?!_ ”

 

 

Adric moaned.  His head hurt, he knew that much.  What he didn’t know was where he was, or what exactly had happened to him.  The answer to the first quandary could, of course, easily be rectified by opening his eyes, but Adric wasn’t sure he wanted to attempt that yet.  His skull reverberated with a pounding that was regular and insistent, and he was certain that increasing his sensory perception at this moment in time would only serve to exacerbate that situation.  

Exploration was, he felt, best left to his other senses then… he could feel that he was on a bed, but the hardness of the mattress against his back, the unfamiliar ambient smells and the lack of bright artificial light penetrating through his eyelids indicated that he wasn’t on board the TARDIS.  

His brow furrowed as he struggled to remember the events of the last few hours: Serenity… that was it, they were on Serenity… he remembered the tranquillity of the Gardens, eating some particularly nice tree-fruit, the way the moonlight caught the edge of Nyssa’s hair, and then…

Adric gasped, his eyes snapping open.  Pain sliced through his head, resonating with the anguish he felt as memories returned in a rush.  “Nyssa!” he breathed.  She had been hurt, and the last thing he remembered was standing next to the Doctor in the midst of a hostile crowd… the screeching, knife-wielding woman… and then - blackness.

He quickly sat up, fighting against the unrelenting pain in his skull that urged him back towards the sweet release of unconsciousness.  Wherever his friends were, they were in danger and he had to help them.  And that meant getting out of _here_.

Even as he quickly surveyed his surroundings Adric felt his headache lessen slightly, and silently gave thanks for his Alzarian heritage.   He was alone, in a small, sparsely furnished stone-walled room, dimly lit by flickering candlelight.  Noting the lack of windows, Adric quickly came to the conclusion that the heavily built wooden door was his only means of escape, however as he gingerly got out of bed and winced at the renewed surge of pain to his head, the heavy handle creaked and slowly began to turn…

 

 

“A simple question, Herald,” the Prime Consul said nonchalantly. “How do you plead?”

The Doctor stood, open-mouthed, and stared at the Consuls before him in wide-eyed incredulity.  “What?… _What?!”_

Varden scowled and motioned towards Proctor Morovan, who activated the stun cuffs once more.  The Doctor grimaced in pain as energy surged through every nerve pathway in his body.

“For the last time – your _plea_!”

The Time Lord sighed, his face glistening in sweat.  “Well, that’s rather difficult to say really…”  

The Prime Consul motioned again, but this time the Doctor merely winced, and remained somehow unsubdued.  

“I don’t recall being responsible for the untimely death of so many people, and although I have lived a long and – ahem - _fairly_ eventful life, something like that would _surely_ stand out, wouldn’t you say?”  

The Proctor activated the cuffs once more, but this time the Doctor registered no more than a pause, and continued his train of thought.

“Of course, I can’t account for what I may do in the future, but _45 billion people?_   It seems, well, just so… so _out of character…_ ”

Varden shot a baleful glance at Proctor Morovan, who simply held up the stun cuff control and shrugged his shoulders.  The Doctor, momentarily distracted from his contemplations, registered the silent exchange.

“Ah yes, you’re wondering about these, I presume?”  He held his bound wrists in the air.  “Apologies, my physiology tends to be, shall we say, rather ‘adaptable’, and your repeated attempts to electrocute me have resulted in my nervous system shutting down and re-routing around that particular area.”  The Doctor wiggled his fingers and gave his audience a broad grin.  “Now, I wonder if you would be so kind as to explain the details of exactly what I am supposed to have done?”

 

  

Tegan looked from Suren to Nyssa – the face of the former registered unmitigated remorse, the latter’s abject shock.

“So this ‘Lady’ you all keep going on about – you’re telling me you think that’s _Nyssa_? _!_ ”  

Suren, now reluctantly returned to a kneeling position (after much coaxing from Tegan), looked at the floor and nodded.

Tegan turned to Nyssa, who was still clasping the sheet to her chest and staring at the trembling medic in horror.  “And Nyssa, I take it this is news to you?”

The Trakenite tore her eyes from Suren’s kneeling form and stared incredulously at her friend.  “But…. _how?_ ”  Nyssa looked from Tegan back to the grovelling Suren in bewilderment.  “I’m not… Suren, I have no idea how this has come about, but I am simply the daughter of a Consul, no more.  How can you possibly think I’m some form of… _deity?_ ”

“I…I don’t understand, my Lady.  Is this a test?”  Suren hesitantly raised his eyes to meet Nyssa’s, his face clouded with uncertainty and confusion.  

Tegan sighed and rubbed her eyes.  “Just humour us, Suren.  I think you’d better start from the beginning…”

 

 

Adric backed away from the door, hurriedly contemplating his options.  Escape?  Attack?  His throbbing head reminded him he wasn’t really in any shape for either, so he sat back onto the bed and anxiously awaited his fate.

Fate duly entered the room in the form of a young and slightly built woman, clothed in the flowing white robes of the Order, and carrying a tray furnished with bread and a steaming hot bowl of broth.  She looked at the young boy in surprise, apparently not expecting him to be as fully conscious as he was.  She nodded, regaining her composure almost instantaneously.

“Good evening.  My name is Novin.  Would you care for some refreshment?”

Adric, led by his stomach as usual, was instantly disarmed.  “Yes please!”  

The young woman stepped back and watched in bemused silence as the boy sat down and enthusiastically tore into the bread.  He looked up momentarily.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Adric mumbled, cheeks bulging.  Realisation hit him as she took breath to answer, and he pointed at her in disbelief.  “Wait a minute – it’s you!  The woman in the crowd!” he gulped – “With the knife?”

Novin smiled.  “Please, do not be alarmed.  I meant – I _mean_ you no harm. I was merely the diversion that enabled your rescue.”

Adric nearly choked on his soup.  “Rescue?!”  He rubbed the tender lump on the back of his head – “You call that a rescue? That was… assault!”

“I am truly sorry for your pain, however you must understand that time was of the essence, and reluctantly we decided that rendering you unconscious was the most effective way of retrieving you from the situation.”  She looked at the floor and clasped her hands together nervously.  “Please forgive us, we acted as we must.”

Adric looked at her in puzzlement.  “We?  Who’s _we_?  And where’s the Doctor?  Was he ‘rescued’ too?”

“I am afraid we were unable to retrieve the Herald. The crowd and security arrangements were much greater than we had planned for.  But do not fear, we have an agent at the Inquisition who will act on his – and our - behalf.”

“The Herald?  Who’s that?”  

Novin sighed and sat down on the bed next to the young boy, smiling patiently. 

“Finish your soup, and I’ll explain everything…”

 

 

Varden sat back in his chair, sighing in irritation.  “All right Doctor, if you wish to persist in this charade, I’ll play along.”  Without removing his gaze from the Doctor, he lazily waved a hand in the direction of the Procardinal, who was stood at the side of the chamber, surrounded by several lower members of the Order.  “Jonaris, perhaps you could do the honours?”

The cleric puffed out his substantial chest in self importance, gave the Prime Consul a cursory nod, and stepped forward, clearing his throat before allowing his full voice to resonate around the chamber.

“Centuries ago, the people of Serenity were privileged enough to share in the tranquillity of the Traken Union, living lives of harmony bathed in the light of the Source, under the benevolent gaze of the Keeper.  Our ancestors basked in the glow of what they considered to be the perfect society – the benefits of scientific advancement blended seamlessly with spiritual depth and commitment.  However for all their technological prowess they were completely unprepared for the calamitous events that occurred during the short reign of the Keeper now known as ‘Luvic the Last’.”

The Doctor allowed himself a brief and poignant smile at the thought of Luvic, who had considered himself so unworthy, but had found a hidden strength at the final moment.  

Varden noted this and raised an eyebrow, as the Procardinal carried on.

“Three hundred years ago, the old Keeper approached the time of his Dissolution.  The people of Serenity kept a silent vigil, as was customary in those days, but were surprised at the unprecedented violence and turmoil of his passing.  In the end, however, peace was restored as the new Keeper became one with the Source.”  Jonaris’ melodious voice took on a darker tone as he continued.

“This peace, however, was not to last.  It was only a handful of days into the reign of Luvic when our astronomers began to note changes of a cataclysmic nature: stars seemed to literally disappear from the heavens as they watched, and the clear midday sky began to darken ominously.  The Consuls of the time, alarmed by these dreadful portents, rushed to this very Sanctum to consult the Keeper.”

The Procardinal raised his bejewelled hand to indicate the conspicuously empty throne within the inner chamber.  “The Keeper answered their call, as he had done so often in the past, here and on the many other worlds of the Union.  But this time was different.  Keeper Luvic could only manifest as a pale, ghostly image, barely able to substantiate himself, weak and drained.  In a pained voice he spoke of murder, of the coming Darkness, of infiltration, and of _all-pervading evil_.”  Jonaris turned his accusing stare towards the Doctor.

“Then he spoke of a man, and a boy… and of a _blue box._ ”

 

 

Novin had recounted much the same history to her young companion as he eagerly finished off his meal.  He looked at her quizzically.

“But… but that’s _me_ , and the Doctor!”

Novin inclined her head in agreement.  

“But what have _we_ got to do with this ‘Herald’ person?”

The young acolyte spoke in soothing tones, which somehow began to make Adric’s eyes feel heavy.  Putting his tray aside, he laid back onto the bed as she continued.

“Adric, don’t you see?  Think of it from a different perspective… the people of the Traken Union lived in peace and harmony for thousands upon thousands of years.  And then one day, offworlders arrive, a man and a boy possessed of a strange technology which allows them to travel between times and dimensions, a technology far in advance of our own.  A matter of days later, the Keeper dies, and the Dissolution is more terrible and violent than any recounted before.  A new Keeper is confirmed, but his reign is but a few days old before… before the Union, and the very Source itself is consumed in Darkness.”  Novin bowed her head and looked to the floor.  “The coincidence, for some, was too much to deny.”

Adric lay back, closing his eyes to try to clear the grogginess encroaching upon his thoughts.  “The Doctor…” he murmured, “The _Doctor_ is the Herald…”

 

 

Nyssa lay back in her bed, rubbing her temples, as Tegan stared at Suren in disbelief.

“So you’re saying they think the _Doctor_ caused all this?  Caused the death of all those people?!”

The medic tore his eyes from Nyssa to answer her incensed companion.  “The Herald came, and then… the world ended,” he stated, matter-of-factly.  

“But,” Tegan stuttered, “It wasn’t the Doctor, it was–”

“Tegan.”  

The Australian woman looked over to her friend, who had opened her eyes and was shaking her head faintly in warning.  “Don’t.  Not until we know the facts.”

“The causal link is there for all to see,” said Suren.  “The Herald is the Harbinger of Darkness.  He came, and within days our people were forced to watch as, one by one, the worlds of the Union were obliterated… millions, _billions_ of souls wiped out in the space of a few moments.”  

Nyssa, momentarily overcome with emotion, looked at the kneeling Serenite with tear-filled eyes.  Suren was recounting ancient history he had learned at his father’s knee, with a detachment that could only result from the passage of the centuries.  He had never known a time when the worlds or the people he spoke of lived and breathed.  From Nyssa’s perspective however, she had been witness to these events a matter of weeks ago, and the memory was still painfully fresh.  What to Suren were distant ancestors, long dead people from worlds he had never known in his own lifetime, were to Nyssa a much loved family and home that had all too recently been brutally ripped from her life.  She hadn’t begun to mourn their loss.  She didn’t even know where to start.

Tegan, meanwhile, continued her questioning.  “But that doesn’t explain about this ‘Lady’, or her connection to Nyssa, does it?”

Suren looked towards Nyssa, still confused as to the nature of the discussion but unwilling to challenge the divinity before him.  He sighed and reluctantly continued.

“The power of the Source was waning.  As the Darkness advanced, the Keeper had fewer and fewer minds to draw on.  As he called on the last vestiges of his strength, he told the Serenite Consuls of a missing child - that the daughter of Tremas had ascended with a mysterious being, and must be found at all costs… that millions of lives depended on it.”  He stared at Nyssa with awe-struck reverence.  “He said you would return.  And now, in answer to our centuries of prayers, you are here.”  He closed his eyes and bowed his head once more in reverence.  “And I am your humble servant.”

Tegan sat heavily on the edge of Nyssa’s bed and looked at the bewildered Trakenite with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.  A sardonic smile played across her lips.

“Well, ‘my Lady’…what do you suggest we do now?!”

 

 

“But that’s preposterous!” blustered the Doctor, unconsciously backing away slowly from the stone-faced dignitaries arranged before him.  His colour rose as his mind leapt to the logical conclusion offered by the chain of events described by the Procardinal.   “Adric and I came to Traken at the behest of the old Keeper, and we left the Union in peace and on good terms - you can’t seriously be suggesting that we – that _I_ – am responsible for the destruction of the entire Empire?!”  He looked over his shoulder in irritated surprise when his gradual backward motion was suddenly interrupted as he bumped into two armed Fosters.

Prime Consul Varden sat up suddenly.  “So you do not deny that you and the Boy were present on Traken immediately before the coming of the Darkness?  That you were involved in the events surrounding the Keeper’s Dissolution?”

“No, I do not!” said the Doctor heatedly. “But the fact of my presence there at that time by no means indicates my _guilt_ , or indeed any particular _involvement_ in the events that followed!”  

Varden raised an eyebrow.  “Oh really?”

“Yes, _really_!  Adric and I had departed from Traken long before the ‘Darkness’, as you put it, even began!”

“Well, you were hardly likely to stick around to experience your handiwork in action, were you, _Herald_?”  Jonaris spat the final word in distaste.

The Prime Consul held up his hand to silence the enflamed cleric.  “Enough Jonaris!  This is an Inquisition, and we are in danger of losing our objectivity here.”  He turned back to the bound Time Lord with a pacifying smile.  “The Doctor claims he left Traken in peace, and we have no evidence to contradict his claim.”

“But the Testimony of Luvic…!” spluttered Jonaris, before once again being silenced by Varden’s raised hand.

“We all know the Testimony, Procardinal.  The ancient texts have been passed down faithfully through the centuries.  But here we have an eyewitness to those events, someone whose memory has not, one assumes, been so dimmed by the passage of the years.” He turned to the Doctor once more.  “I wonder, would you be good enough to enlighten us as to what you and the Boy... Adric... did after you left the Union of Traken?”

 

 

Novin looked up from where she sat, tenderly stroking the sleeping Adric’s forehead, as the door to the small chamber silently opened.  She smiled as a grey-swathed member of the Order entered, his face obscured by the cowl of his robes.  

“The drugs have taken hold already? That was quicker than anticipated.”  

Novin nodded her affirmation.  “He is fully subdued, Brother.”  She smiled.  “Perhaps the speed at which he devoured his supper had something to do with it.”

The newcomer seemed to consider this for a moment, then slowly bowed his head.  “Very well, Sister Novin.  Proceed with the conditioning as planned.  Keep me informed as to your progress.”  With that, he turned and swept out of the chamber.

Novin sighed and turned back to the sleeping boy, resuming the slow, rhythmic stroking of her fingertips across his forehead.  She spoke in a low, almost hypnotic voice.

“Adric?  Can you hear me?  Listen carefully Adric, we have a lot of work to do…”

 

 

The clamour echoing around the stone walls of the Sanctum descended into whispers as the Prime Consul sat forward purposefully in his chair and questioned the bound Time Lord before him.

“‘Earth’? This is not a system I am familiar with.”

“Really?”  The Doctor’s face betrayed his surprise.  “Earth?  Terra?  Sol III?”  The faces arranged in front of him showed not the slightest hint of recognition.  The Doctor closed his eyes and silently cursed the peoples of the universe for their complete inability to pick a planetary name and stick to it.  “Erm – Antykhon?  Avallion?  Dhakan?  Ravolox?”  The Doctor sighed.  “It doesn’t matter.  We only stayed there briefly, well, long enough for Tegan to stumble on board anyway, before we left for Logopolis.”  

A series of frantic, whispered conversations broke out around the room, which were almost immediately silenced by the raised hand of Varden, who calmly continued his questioning.

“Tegan?  This is one of the females in your party?”

“Ah, yes – the shorter-haired of the two.  The other is–”

“And Logopolis of course, we have knowledge of.  Their mathematical achievements were legendary within the Union.”  Varden steepled his fingers together and peered at the Doctor intently.  “And what was your business there?”

The Doctor took a deep breath and looked to the high-vaulted ceiling, sensing that this, as usual, was about to become complicated.    

 

 

“My Lady, _no_!  You must listen to me!”  Suren pleaded as Nyssa painfully forced herself upright.  “Your treatment is not yet complete, and the bone-knitting procedure…”

Nyssa cut him off with an irritated sigh.  “I know full well about the complexities of the process thank you, Suren - it was after all perfected on Traken - but unfortunately we don’t have time to worry about such niceties.  We must find the Doctor – I have a feeling he’s in terrible danger… _uhhhnnn!_ ”  Clasping the linen sheet to her chest Nyssa cried out in pain as she swung her bare legs over the side of the bed.  She clutched her side and paused to catch her breath.  “Tegan, help me, please!”

Tegan immediately rushed to Nyssa’s side and helped the Traken woman stand, a concerned look on her face.  “What does he mean about ‘the bone-knitting procedure’?  Are you going to be OK?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, Tegan.  On Traken we developed a way of mending broken bones using a complex combination of sonic waves and cascaded particle beams – the emitter within the treatment arch targets the fractures and causes the skeletal cells to oscillate, and then realign in a more stable structure.  The only problem is–”

“The treatment isn’t finished, so your ribs aren’t fully healed yet?” Tegan guessed, not fully understanding Nyssa’s explanation but keen to show that she had at least grasped some of the situation.

Suren stepped in, arms folded in an attempt at defiance.  “Not only that, but the procedure significantly weakens the bones in question - and also the surrounding skeletal structure - for some hours afterwards.  This is not a problem of course, if the patient does as they are told and _stays in bed_ …”  He folded his arms and fixed Nyssa with a look of pure exasperation.

Tegan rolled her eyes.  “Well you’ve changed your tune – you wouldn’t even look at her a minute ago!”  

Suren looked at his other ‘patient’ in surprised annoyance, but Tegan turned to address her friend before he could retaliate.  

“Listen Nyssa, are you sure you’re up to this?  He’s probably right you know, and to be honest, if you’re having weird premonitions about the Doctor being in some kind of danger then bed is probably the best place for you, don’t you think?”

“It is _not_ a ‘weird premonition’, Tegan!” Nyssa retorted, raising her hand to her forehead in frustration, her eyes brimming with tears.  She sagged back wearily against the bed.  “I’m sorry, I really am, I don’t know what’s the matter with me.   I just can’t seem to clear my head at all, and it feels to be getting worse… it’s like there’s a constant noise in the back of my mind, but the more I try to make out what it is, the louder and more jumbled it gets…” she frowned in frustration.

Tegan shot Suren a concerned look.  “After effects of the stasis beam?”

The Serenite was already consulting the nearest medicom terminal.  “It could be, I suppose, but it’s not something I’ve come across before, and auditory hallucinations certainly aren’t listed in the database as a side-effect of the weaponry.”  He turned to Nyssa, pleading: “My Lady, I _implore_ you to stay here and finish your treatment.  I can run some more tests – “

“NO!”  Nyssa pushed herself upright once more, leaning on Tegan for support.  “We have to help him, Tegan.  Even if you don’t trust my instincts and so called ‘auditory hallucinations’, there’s the fact that those Fosters were called away to some kind of trouble near the prison block.  And if I know the Doctor…”

“He’s right in the middle of it,”  Tegan conceded.  “I’ll get your clothes.”

 

 

“We were simply trying to repair the TARDIS’s chameleon circuit.”  The Doctor sighed, eyes raised to the ceiling of the crowded Sanctum.  “I had hoped that the Logopolitans could use their skills in block transfer computation to correct a long-standing fault.”

Prime Consul Varden sat forward in his chair.  “And was your business concluded successfully?”

“No.  Unfortunately it was not.”

“Have you returned to Logopolis since your last visit, to complete the repair?”

The Doctor threw Varden a distrustful look, and replied quietly: “You obviously know that to be impossible, Prime Consul.”

Varden sat back, a smile playing across his thin lips.  “Ah, that is correct, Doctor.  Forgive me, I forgot for a moment that Logopolis shared much the same fate as our beloved Union.”  His face became serious once more.  “It seems, Doctor, that you somehow leave a trail of destruction in your wake.  Do you continue to deny any kind of responsibility?”

The Time Lord raised his chin defiantly.  “I _do_.  Everything I did on Traken, every action I took on Logopolis, was carried out with the best possible of intentions.”  He looked at the floor and closed his eyes, a pained expression on his apparently youthful face, his blond hair trailing from his temples.  “I tried with every fibre of my being to prevent what happened… it is my eternal regret that I failed.”

Procardinal Jonaris could contain himself no longer, and allowed a noisy grunt of disgust and derision escape him.  He rounded on the group of seated Consuls.

“Just exactly how long are you going to let this farce continue, Varden?” he blustered, his face crimson with barely restrained rage.  “Must we suffer another moment of this man’s false contrition and outright _lies_?  He has admitted his presence on Traken, and his ownership of the blue box condemns him without question!”  The cleric turned and pointed accusingly at the Doctor.  “The Herald is before you, Consuls – we must act before it is too late!”

“If not you, Doctor, then _who_?”  The Prime Consul’s soft tone was in marked contrast to the Procardinal’s thundering tirade, but it held an unmistakably greater degree of gravitas and power.  The Doctor locked eyes with Varden, trying to read what was going on in the depths of the Serenite leader’s intellect.  His expression seemed pained, somehow.

“If not _you_ , then _WHO?”_

He was out of options.  The Doctor closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

“The _Master_.”

 

 

A dull thud echoed around the walls of the cramped, dimly lit chamber as the grey-robed acolyte’s fist smacked into the side of an ancient, flickering monitor.   His lips curled into a snarl as the image on the screen descended even further into static, but the aged equipment was saved from a further beating by the timely bleep of a comlink.  Grabbing the communicator in one swift motion, he raised it to his lips.

“I’m here.”  He spoke in a calm, measured tone that belied the violent outburst only a few moments before.  The comlink crackled with static, causing the acolyte to close his eyes in a visible effort to calm himself.  He adjusted a control and tried again.

“I’m here.  Report.”

The buzzing resolved itself into a broken, barely decipherable voice.  “– _mood of the Inquisition has changed, Brother… ardinal has attacked… Herald is on the defensive.”_   The disembodied voice was again lost in static, before clearing once more:  “– _w do you want us to proceed?”_

The acolyte stared at the monitor, deep in thought.  

_“Brother?”_

“Take no action until I direct otherwise.  The Boy is in our care, and the Herald is in no immediate danger.  Remain in position.  Confirm.”

_“–firmed Brother.  Standing by.”_

The acolyte turned to the monitor and resumed his vigil.  His fist hammered once more into the side of the equipment, and the snow resolved to reveal Adric, laid back on the bed, his eyes half-open.  The Alzarian’s boyish face glistened with sweat as Novin leaned over him, tenderly stroking his forehead.  The grey-robed man peered intently at the screen, before reaching forward to adjust the volume of the audio feed.  Novin’s soothing tones crackled through the speakers.

 _“Adric… you must realise just how important you are to the future of this world…”_  

 

 

It took several pain-filled minutes for Tegan to help Nyssa back into her velvet trouser suit, whilst Suren paced up and down on the other side of an opaque privacy screen, his mind racing as he tried to comprehend the events of the past few hours.  He, along with every other Serenite in the colony, had long dreamt of the return of the Lady, but he was struggling to reconcile the supernaturally triumphant manifestation of the ethereal goddess he had always pictured in his mind with the seemingly young and fragile girl painfully struggling into her clothes behind the screen.  Where were the portents?  Where was the awe-inspiring, glorious reappearance of a divine being?  Emerging from some darkened bushes, and subsequently being shot by her own people, was not something that Suren had ever noticed in the ancient texts when the return of the Goddess was prophesied.

He went over to the medicom and rechecked the DNA results one more time.  

“Suren?”  

Tegan’s voice came from behind the screen, a little breathless from her exertions.  “Suren, are you there?”

“Yes, my lady,” he replied, without looking up from the data screen.  There it was.  Indisputable.  One hundred percent Trakenite.  He furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

Tegan chuckled, emerging from the impromptu dressing room.  “You don’t have to bow and scrape to me Suren, _I’m_ not a goddess.”

The medic frowned, his eyes still fixed on the flickering screen.  “No.  But you are Handmaiden to the Lady, are you not?  And therefore deserving of respect, surely?”  He looked up at her, uncertain.

Tegan thought for a moment, a bemused expression on her face.  Whilst a bit put out at being labelled a mere servant, she resigned herself with the thought that at least the ‘position’ would give her a lot more respect than she could ever expect as an air stewardess.  Shrugging her shoulders, she laughed: “Yeah, whatever you say mate!  Now the question is, how the heck are we going to get to the Doctor if there’s a riot going on outside?  Plus, won’t there be guards?”

Suren looked back at the screen once more, then closed his eyes, his mind in turmoil.  Was this some sort of a test?  Was his loyalty to the Lady being questioned?  He couldn’t deny the facts in front of him – he was, after all, a scientist, and whatever his religious expectations were, the empirical evidence before him was overwhelming.  The girl behind the screen was not merely Trakenite.  On further analysis there were also certain markers in her DNA that… well, if the data was correct then the implications were staggering.  Opening his eyes, he downloaded the results to a hand reader and breathed deeply, his loyalties decided.  He turned towards Tegan, momentarily starting as his eyes unexpectedly met Nyssa’s, who, now fully dressed, had joined her companion.

He bowed his head low before his Goddess.  “If you will permit me, my Lady, I have an idea.”

 

 

Varden paced slowly back and forth in front of the Doctor, his plush velvet robes trailing on the stone floor as he stalked across the Sanctum.  He addressed the Time Lord without raising his eyes from the floor.

“This ‘Master’ you speak of, he is of your species?”

The Doctor rubbed his eyes wearily, wondering how much longer his ordeal was going to continue.  “He is a Time Lord, yes.”

“And you claim he had some involvement in the events in question?”  

The Doctor nodded his head in silent confirmation.  Varden looked up.  “How so?”

With a heavy sigh, The Doctor began to explain.  “My species have a long but finite lifespan, and the Master had all but reached the end of his.  Seeking to prolong his existence, he searched the universe for a power source potent enough to extend his life.  He found it in the Union, and saw the Keeper’s approaching Dissolution as an opportunity to gain control of the Source.  It was only through the combined efforts of myself, Consul Tremas and others that he was stopped.”

The Doctor’s statement was halted by a loud expression of derision from the direction of Procardinal Jonaris.  “Do you _seriously_ expect us to believe–”

“Yes, I _DO!_ ”  The Doctor snapped in irritation, cutting the cleric short.  He looked towards the Prime Consul.  “If I may be permitted to continue?”  

Varden nodded his assent.  

The Doctor shot a hostile look at Jonaris, then took a deep breath and continued.

“I had thought that our defeat of the Master on Traken would have meant his final demise.  However my assumption was wrong, as it seems that the Master had somehow survived by using the remnants of the Keeper’s power to take over the body of Consul Tremas and escape.  This became apparent when he followed us to Earth, and then to Logopolis, where he tried to take control by disrupting the Logopolitan calculations.  Regrettably, this generated the wave of entropy that destroyed the Traken Union.”

The Prime Consul considered this for a moment, and then looked at the Doctor gravely.  “And did you make any attempt to contain this entropy?  To halt the destruction you claim was caused by The Master?”

“Of course I did!” replied the Doctor, indignantly.  “The entire cosmos was at risk, and I did everything within my power to halt the decay, very nearly losing my life in the process.  I managed to stabilise the last remaining CVE and safeguard the rest of the universe, but it was too late…”  He looked at the floor and shook his head, his expression bitterly remorseful.  “All those people.  I was just too late…”

 

 

Novin tenderly wiped the brow of the young boy her care, all the while continuing her half-whispered sermon.  Adric lay still, semi-conscious, his eyes glazed and unfocussed.  He seemed oblivious to Novin’s quiet, persistent pleading.

“You must help us Adric… the people of this world are depending on you… you have the power to free us from centuries of oppression!  Can you imagine what it’s like to live in fear - to exist without the benefit of high technology or the light of scientific discovery?  To spend your life under the shackles of religious persecution, forbidden from research, enquiry or free thought?”  She resumed tracing her fingers across the boy’s forehead in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

“Our ancestors were lost in the Darkness after the Union was wiped out.  People will cling to any hope in their darkest hour, and the growth of the cult of the Lady brought with it a belief that Traken had been a victim of its own arrogance – that pride in the Union’s technologically-engineered peace had brought about its downfall.”

Adric stirred slightly, an incoherent murmur escaping from his dry lips.  Novin raised a glass to his mouth, gently supporting his head while he sipped the cool liquid inside.

“That is why you are here, Adric.  It is your destiny to bring logic and reason back to Serenity…. only _you_ can break the chains that bind us….” 

 

 

“Are you sure this is going to work?”  

Tegan looked doubtfully at Suren as she helped Nyssa don the flowing white robes of the Order that she herself was also now clothed in.  The medic had sourced the outfits from an overflowing locker in the back of the medical centre; Tegan had managed to refrain from asking what had happened to the previous owners, but was dubious as to the practicalities of Suren’s plan to get them to the Doctor.

Suren looked up from his hand reader.  “I don’t see why not, my Lady.  We will simply approach the Sanctum as if you are escorting me on the official business of the Order.  I will speak with the Fosters as we discussed, and our entry will be secured.”

“And you’re sure the Doctor is there?” Nyssa asked, whilst struggling to adjust her belt.

The medic bowed his head.  “I am certain, Lady.  The citizens I spoke to just now in the courtyard had seen two strangely clad males being taken in that direction, flanked by a number of Fosters.  Apparently they attracted quite a crowd, and there was some commotion.”

“The Doctor has a tendency to do that,” said Tegan, wryly.  “But aren’t we going to look a bit suspicious ourselves?  Nyssa can hardly walk for a start!”  She indicated her friend, who was still clutching her side, obviously in some pain.

Suren crossed the room and opened a wall-mounted medical cabinet, extracted some items and returned to where the two women stood.  He held up a silver gun-shaped object, and inserted a vial of clear liquid into a chamber in the handle.  He turned to Nyssa, hands shaking nervously.  “If you will permit me, Lady?”  Nyssa nodded, and bared her neck, looking at Tegan.  

“Hypospray,” she explained, as Suren placed the object against her neck and operated the trigger.  Nyssa visibly relaxed and straightened as the painkillers quickly entered her bloodstream, dulling the soreness in her ribs.

“I _know_ ,” said Tegan defensively, “I’ve seen ‘Star Trek’!  Hey, can I have a look at that for a minute?”

Suren placed the hypospray in her outstretched hand.  “Of course, my Lady.  May I ask why?”

Tegan hefted the instrument and smiled at her companions.  “Just a little thing I like to call: ‘Plan B’.”

 

 

Prime Consul Varden halted his pacing and resumed his seat amongst the Serenite Consuls.  

“‘Too late’ indeed, Doctor.  I cannot speak for you, but I find those two small words inadequate to the task of describing the difference between forty-five billion people being _alive_ one minute, and _dead_ the next.”  He steepled his fingers and frowned deeply.  “I am also struggling with two additional words: ‘ _Time_ ’ and ‘ _Lord_ ’.”

The Doctor looked at the ceiling in exasperation.  He had known this was coming.  “I can’t go back,” he said carefully, trying to control the increasing anger in his voice.  He looked directly at Varden.  “I _can’t_ go back.  I cannot save them.”

A confused clamour arose from the Serenites arranged around the Sanctum, and the Procardinal took the opportunity to confront the captive Doctor once more, the colour rising in his face.  

“Can’t?  Or _won’t_?  You are a _Time Lord_ , are you not?  Your blue box enables you to travel in time as well as space, we are told, so how can you _possibly_ refuse?!”

The Doctor spoke rapidly, through gritted teeth.  “It isn’t a matter of _choice_ , Procardinal.  I cannot go back and save the people of the Union, however much I would like to, because it is simply _not possible_.  The Laws of Time will not allow it.”

“The ‘Laws of Time’?” sneered Jonaris, his voice rising above the commotion.  “As decreed by whom?”

“As decreed by the High Council of Gallifrey, based upon the scientific principles of causality and temporal dynamics.  We Time Lords are forbidden to interfere with history.”

The rotund cleric positively simmered with rage.  “Are you seriously telling us, Herald, that this is the only reason you will not lift a finger to save forty-five billion innocent men, women and children?  Because of a _rule_ passed by a species so arrogant to think they can dictate to the rest of the universe?”

“It is _not_ just a rule!”  The Doctor rounded on the Procardinal.  “It is an expression of scientific _fact_.  Look, some things are simply _fixed_ , crystallised in the web of time, and you cannot go back and change them, because Time will find a way to ensure that those events happen regardless.  What you’re asking is impossible!”

“How can you be certain when you have not even _tried_?!”

The Doctor sighed, deflated.  “I know, because we are here, now… and Traken is still dead.”

 

 

Nyssa, Suren and Tegan hurried across the courtyard towards the Sanctum, the girls’ heads now shrouded by the hoods of their robes.  The crowds were beginning to be forcibly dispersed by a number of armed Fosters, but there were still a significant number of citizens milling around the heavy doors.  A group of Fosters were concentrated there, barring the way.

Tegan grabbed Suren’s arm and halted him.  “We’ll never get through there!”

The Serenite thought for a moment, before smiling grimly.  “Don’t worry, my Lady.  I know of another entrance.  The postern gate should be less well guarded.  This way!”  He indicated a path to the side of the Sanctum, and the trio hurried into the shadows.

 

 

In his cramped chamber, the grey-robed acolyte started as his comlink crackled once more.

_“Brother? …  -ease respond.”_

“I’m here.  Report.”

The comlink buzzed with static once more, before clearing momentarily.  _“-ecoming hostile, Brother.  We are in position, awaiting your signal, but we can’t delay much longer.  Please advise.”_

The acolyte adjusted a few controls on the haphazardly wired panel in front of him before responding.  The screen changed from the elevated view of Novin and Adric to a viewpoint from some way above and behind a row of seated, ornately dressed figures arranged in front of a tall, handcuffed prisoner.  He activated the comlink.

“Stand by.”

 

 

The Doctor closed his eyes in frustration as shouts echoed off the stone walls around him.  Why was this always so hard to explain?  He was sure Blinovitch hadn’t had this problem.  Clearing his throat, he bellowed in order to be heard above the hubbub.  “LISTEN!”

All eyes turned towards the bound Time Lord, expectantly.  

“Alright.  Say I do go back, right now, as a direct result of this Inquisition, and somehow manage to perform the impossible, defy the Laws of Time, prove every temporal theory ever formulated wrong, and stop the Master from destroying Traken.  What then?”

Jonaris stepped forward.  “Then the billions of souls lost to the Union would be restored.  And you, Herald, would be redeemed.”

The Doctor smiled smugly.  “My point exactly, my dear Procardinal.  The Union would still exist, and you and I would not be stood here having this debate.  Agreed?” 

Jonaris nodded suspiciously.

The Doctor looked at the puzzled faces arranged before him.  “So _who_ , exactly, would ask me to go back?”

 

 

Tegan smiled at Suren as they each dragged a recumbent Foster into a patch of shrubbery a short distance from the Sanctum’s postern gate.  

“There you go, mate!” she said, as they unceremoniously dumped their burdens under cover.  “You can’t beat a good ‘Plan B’!”  She hefted the hypospray (now containing a powerful sedative) like a pistol, and set off purposefully back to the gate, where Nyssa was keeping watch.  Suren looked down at the unconscious guards, thinking, not for the first time that night, that he was completely out of his depth.  

 

 

Nyssa looked anxiously about her as she waited for Tegan and Suren to return from concealing the unconscious Fosters.  Despite the past few months of travelling with the Doctor, she was still not at peace with the amount of violence that always seemed to be involved whenever he got himself embroiled in something.  Though she could sometimes see the necessity in the way the Time Lord (and increasingly, it seemed, his companions) went about things, it still went against every fibre of her Trakenite being.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, a sudden pain slicing through her thoughts.  The noise in her head seemed to have subsided somewhat since they had left the Infirmary – or was it that she was just becoming used to it? – but for a moment then it had felt as if someone had shouted, clearly and distinctly, through the background swell.  Nyssa shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.  A nasty suspicion was beginning to form in her mind as to what was happening to her.  She needed to find the Doctor.

She looked up to find Tegan and Suren making their way back towards her position by the gate.  Tegan was smiling, seemingly very satisfied with herself.

“Right then!” the air hostess said, hand on hip, hypospray at the ready.  “Let’s get this show on the road!”  With that, she strode determinedly through the gate and into the tunnel beyond.

Suren looked at Nyssa, bemused.  “What show?” he asked.  

Nyssa shrugged, similarly perplexed, and followed the Australian into the tunnel.  Suren tagged along behind, shaking his head.

 

 

Prime Consul Varden stood and raised his hands.  Within seconds the echoing din within the Sanctum had quietened to a few stray whispers.  He waited a few seconds more before speaking into the absolute silence.

“Esteemed Consuls, revered Clergy, respected Citizens.  Enough is enough.  Dawn is fast approaching, and we are required to come to a resolution.  I do not think, however hard we try, that we will solve the complexities of temporal mechanics in the short time we are allotted.  We must, therefore, concentrate our minds on what we have before us.”

Varden once more resumed his slow pacing, hands clasped firmly behind his back, a look of intense concentration on his face.  He stopped before the subject of the Inquisition.  The Doctor had been on his feet for a number of hours, which was beginning to test even _his_ Gallifreyan endurance levels.  The Prime Consul looked deep into his eyes for several seconds, as if trying to fathom the secrets contained in the alien mind before him.  Whatever he saw, it did not seem to be the answer he was looking for.  He resumed his pacing.

“We have long relied on our ancient and sacred texts to furnish us with the history behind what we term ‘The Darkness’.  The loss of the Keeper, the Source and the worlds of the Union, and the Herald’s crucial role in that loss, are spelled out within those pages, and as such have been considered immutable.  But here we have an alternative perspective.”  The Prime Consul’s words brought hushed gasps from the assembly, but he continued nonetheless.

Varden raised his arm to indicate the Doctor.  “This man - whether you name him ‘Herald’, or ‘Doctor’ - this temporal wanderer was witness to those events.  His ownership of the blue box is irrefutable proof of that, as is his intimate knowledge of the events in question, knowledge that no other offworlder could possibly possess.”  He turned and continued his slow, measured stride.

“The Doctor claims that, rather than initiating the destruction, he in fact tried to prevent it.  He claims that the Union was victim to some kind of ‘entropic decay’, an unfortunate, nay tragic by-product of the evil machinations of a being known as ‘The Master’.  He tells us he gave everything to save the universe, and that save it he did, albeit too late for our beloved Union.   He claims, time-traveller though he is, that he cannot go back and put this right.  Fantastic claims indeed, by anyone’s standard.”  Varden sat down in his ornately carved chair.

“But I am inclined to believe him.”

The stunned silence that followed seemed never ending.  The Doctor hung his head and slumped, visibly relieved.  The assembled Consuls and dignitaries exchanged looks of astonishment.  

The hush was eventually broken, in explosive fashion, by Procardinal Jonaris voicing a rage of almost volcanic proportions.

“ _WHAT?!”_ he bellowed.“Varden, have you taken leave of your senses?!  This is blasphemy of the highest order, and I will not stand by and–”

“BE _SILENT_ , CLERIC!”  Varden’s shout sounded like a thunderclap around the stone chamber.  Jonaris was stunned into silence, and the outburst took even the Doctor by surprise.

“I have not finished.”

The Serenite leader rose, and moved slowly across the polished floor to stand and face the Doctor.

“Someone is responsible for the devastation of a noble and peaceful Union.  Someone must be held accountable.  You tell me that you are a Time Lord, that this ‘Master’ is a Time Lord.  You tell me that you come from a race who have the technology to master Time, and yet they deliberately do nothing with that mastery, but wilfully sit back and watch the Universe slide into death, destruction and anarchy. This leads us to only one possible conclusion:  that the people of the Traken Union have suffered greatly, beyond measure in fact, at the hands of the Time Lords.   

“We have a Time Lord standing here before us.  _Someone_ must be held accountable.”  He moved till he was standing nose to nose with the Doctor, his gaze unflinching.

“And that someone is _you_ , Doctor.”

He spoke in hushed tones, a phrase he had uttered many times before, each more painful than the last.

“I hereby sentence you to _death_.  Effective _immediately._ ” 

 


	4. Sign of the Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor's fate hangs in the balance, as a drugged Adric is at the mercy of the Grey Brethren...

Chapter 4 – Sign of the Divine

The shocked silence that permeated the cold stone Sanctum was almost tangible. Prime Consul Varden signalled to his men; the Doctor, for once lost for words, allowed himself to be forced to his knees by his two guardian Fosters into a position that was becoming, he thought, all too familiar. The Prime Consul then turned to his religious counterpart, pausing to mutter softly on his way back to his chair, his lips close to the Procardinal’s ear:   
“He’s all yours Jonaris, as agreed. Just make it quick.”  
The cleric hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by the events unfolding before him. Quickly recovering himself, he gestured to a nearby member of the Order, who nervously stepped forward with a heavily bound tome. Hurriedly locating a page indicated by a black ribbon inserted between the ancient leaves, Jonaris cleared his throat and turned to face the kneeling Time Lord.   
“This noble scripture, born in the aftermath of the obliteration of the Traken Union, has been faithfully preserved by the Order of the Lady for nigh on three centuries. It serves not just as a faithful, and–” he paused to glare at the Doctor, “–immutable record of those terrible events, nor solely as a moral guide to the surviving people of that Union. In addition to this, it contains a solemn and sacred duty.” The Procardinal puffed out his substantial chest and began to read from the text:  
“And know, honourable citizens of Serenity, that the portent to this abominable cataclysm, to the ruination of this harmonious Union, was the visitation of the Herald – the Harbinger of Darkness. It is therefore incumbent upon each and every Serenite, upon all living souls born of this Holy Colony, to keep faithful watch for His ominous return. And should this unholy being ever deign to set foot on Our Lady’s hallowed soil once more, it shall be the righteous duty of the Serenite people to wage war on His person, and to bring about His swift and total destruction, such that The Herald’s murderous task might never be completed. Thus will the survival of Serenity be assured for all time, and the Lady’s people shall live in Her light forever.”  
Jonaris fixed his close-set eyes upon the prisoner kneeling before him and closed the book, the sound echoing in the silence. The acolyte scurried forward and took the hefty volume from his outstretched hand, replacing it with something altogether more sinister…

 

The short tunnel beyond the postern gate was dank and dimly lit, but mercifully bereft of life. As Tegan, Nyssa and Suren approached a torchlit corner they began to pick up voices, presumably emanating from the Sanctum beyond. Suren put a hand on Tegan’s shoulder, a finger on his lips indicating caution, before warily peering around the corner. After a few moments he turned back to his companions.  
“It’s safe,” he whispered. “There’s a crowd at the far end of the Sanctum, but they seem to have their backs to us. The gate at the end of the tunnel doesn’t look to be guarded, and it’s partially obscured by a screen on the other side.”  
“Come on then!” whispered Tegan, pushing past him and rounding the corner. Nyssa and Suren silently followed her, hugging the moss-covered wall to join her at the iron gate marking the entrance to the Sanctum. They peered around the screen, trying to understand the events happening across the chamber.  
“Is that the Doctor?” breathed Suren, his mouth close to Tegan’s ear, “Between those two Fosters?”   
Tegan nodded. “But what’s going on - why is he kneeling?”  
“And what’s that?” whispered Nyssa, her wide eyes fixed on the glistening object held by the official in front of the Doctor. “They’re not going to–”  
“My Lady, I’m sorry. It looks like we may be too late to save your friend.” Suren whispered dejectedly. “That looks like a ceremonial blade, though it’s different from the one they normally use for executions…”  
Nyssa stared at him in disbelief. “‘Normally’?! You mean capital punishment is accepted on Serenity?”  
“Of course, my Lady, as decreed in the sacred texts. This tunnel is often used to remove the bodies – the ones that are not thrown to the crowd that is…” He looked at her, puzzled at her horrified expression. “How else should we keep order?”  
Nyssa backed away from the gate, appalled at the Serenite’s casual acceptance of state-sanctioned murder. “But… we grew beyond such barbarism!” she gasped. “There were no executions on Traken for thousands of years! How can this be?”  
“Shhhhhhhh!” Tegan hissed, glaring at her companions in frustration. “Listen! The chubby guy seems to be making some sort of speech. There might still be time!”

 

In his small chamber across the city, the grey-shrouded brother watched his monitor intently. He raised the aged comlink to his lips.  
“Is it in place?”  
“Yes, Brother.”  
He closed his eyes, his hand shaking. “Wait for my mark.”

 

Jonaris hefted the ceremonial blade in front of him. It was crafted of brightly polished steel, and boasted several wicked barbs along its razor-edged length. His face betrayed the feeling of power the weapon imbued him with, and he turned to face his victim with a barely concealed sadistic smile. The kneeling Doctor surveyed the blade with trepidation. He tried to rise and back away, but was held firmly in place by the Fosters.  
“Now really,” he blustered, “this is totally unnecessary!”  
The Procardinal stepped forward, paying no heed to the Doctor’s protestations. “Our Holy Scripture does not simply present us with this sacred obligation. It also specifies how the act should be, for want of a better word, executed…”  
“You’re being completely unreasonable!”  
“…Forty-five billion people died at your behest, Herald. And so Our Lady deems it fitting that your life should be taken via the infliction of forty-five separate wounds.”  
“This is NOT justice!”  
Jonaris closed his eyes, spread his arms wide and breathed deeply.  
“Lady! In return for the gift of bountiful peace you have bestowed on us these three centuries, accept this long-awaited offering from thy humble servants!” His voice reached a crescendo as he raised the shining blade above his head.  
“I DO NOT!”  
The tableau within the Sanctum froze. All eyes turned towards the source of the interruption. 

 

“What’s happening? Brother? Can you hear me? Report! Report!”  
The grey acolyte shook the comlink violently, to be met by a shower of static. He anxiously turned to the monitor.  
The picture flickered momentarily, but quickly resolved itself to show the assembled citizens, their gazes uniformly locked in one direction. The acolyte started as the comlink crackled into life once more.  
“-ther… are you seeing this?” The hushed voice broke through the silence. “Is this part of the plan?”  
He adjusted the monitor controls, panning around to reveal the focus of the crowd’s attention. 

 

Jonaris slowly lowered the ceremonial blade and turned in the direction of the Keeper’s Sanctum. A lone figure stood on the raised dais, clad head to foot in the robes of the Order. The Procardinal strode through the crowd towards the intruder, his face reddening as his rage at the interruption to his ceremony took hold.  
“What is the meaning of this, Novice?!” he thundered. “You had better have a damn good reason for disrupting these proceedings, or by the Lady you’ll pay for this indiscretion with your life!”  
The white-clad figure spoke, her voice young but containing an air of consummate authority.  
“You would do well, Procardinal, to refrain from using my name as justification for any more bloodshed.”  
Shocked whispers reverberated around the Sanctum. Jonaris clenched his meaty fists and began to visibly shake with outrage.  
“How DARE you, Novice?!!” he raged apoplectically – “Who the hell do you think you are to speak to ME in this way?!”  
The intruder paused before removing her hood.  
The Doctor, still on his knees, stared in open-mouthed surprise as the figure unmasked herself.  
“I am the Lady Nyssa, daughter of Consul Tremas, last survivor of Traken.” 

 

In the hidden chamber across the city, static from the comlink reverberated around the walls once more as the acolyte’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

 

A similar level of astonishment was currently playing across Tegan’s features as she crouched, still concealed, at the end of the tunnel. She turned to Suren in shock.   
“What the heck is she doing?!”  
The Serenite medic smiled beatifically. “Have no fear, Tegan. My Lady moves in mysterious ways.”  
Tegan shook her head. “She won’t be moving for much longer the way she’s going!” she hissed, hefting the hypospray and checking the level of liquid remaining in the vial. Suren looked at her with apprehension.  
“‘Plan B’ again?” He sighed.  
Tegan clicked the container back into place and mirrored Suren’s worried expression. “Unless you’ve got a ‘Plan C’?”

 

“Nyssa?” gasped the Doctor in amazement, “What the–”  
“BLASPHEMY!!!”  
The Procardinal’s high-pitched screech cut through the shocked atmosphere in the Sanctum, drowning out the Time Lord’s voice and causing all in the vicinity to whip their heads round in astonishment. They found him stood, arm outstretched to point accusingly in the direction of the intruder.  
“FOSTERS! Arrest this heretic at once!”  
The two Fosters nearest to where Nyssa stood immediately ran forward, grabbed her arms and forced them roughly behind her back, causing the Trakenite to cry out in pain. The Doctor tried in vain to struggle to his feet, only to be forced down by his surrounding guards.   
“HOLD!”  
The Fosters froze as Prime Consul Varden rose from his chair. Jonaris whirled round to face him, eyes blazing with righteous fury, but Varden raised a finger and cut him off before he could even draw breath to speak.  
“I believe, Procardinal, that the Fosters answer to the Consulate, not the clergy.” He turned to the Keeper’s Sanctum. “Fosters, please disregard the Procardinal’s instruction.”  
The Doctor ceased to struggle, sighing in relief. “Thank you, Prime Consul. At last, a voice of reason around here! Now, if I might just explain–”  
Varden’s calm, emotionless voice rang clear in the silence.  
“Kill her.”

 

Adric moaned and rolled his eyes, drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion as the ever-present Sister Novin whispered gently, her lips almost brushing his ear.   
“Adric… you must complete the circle…”  
The Serenite’s words drifted lazily through the back of Adric’s mind, surreptitiously weaving their way into his thoughts and shaping his emotions. He dreamed, his fevered brain trying anxiously to make sense of his situation, but hampered by the haze of narcotics infiltrating his system. He felt a strange pressure build up in his skull, a suffocating sensation as if he was rising from deep underwater. Then all of a sudden the pressure lifted, as in his mind’s eye his head broke through the surface, into the sunlight. He drew a great, gasping breath, before taking in his surroundings.  
He was surprised to find himself floating amid the murky, rippling waves of a wide and extensive body of water. Bright sunshine stung his eyes as it sparkled and danced over the gently undulating waves. Adric shook his head and wiped the wetness from his face, squinting his eyes as he looked across the surface of the lake towards the shore. River flies darted between the reeds as waterfowl screeched, startled into flight by a gang of yellow-clad children running and splashing in the shallows. Through the trees, some way off in the distance, Adric glimpsed the hard metal edge of a large structure, standing out conspicuously against the lush green foliage. He closed his eyes and shook his head once more, unable to believe what he was seeing.   
He was on Alzarius.  
As he started to swim slowly towards the shore, his attention was drawn by a group of youths, laughing and relaxing in the afternoon sunshine. They were still some distance away, but as he caught snippets of their conversation on the breeze and watched their movements they seemed… familiar somehow. They were laughing and joking good-naturedly, when one of the youths grabbed the girl by his side and ran towards the water with her – she struggled and screamed, hysterical with laughter as he threatened to throw her in.  
“Varsh! No - don’t you dare! Put me down you idiot!!”  
Adric stopped in mid-stroke. The last time he had seen his brother he had been still and lifeless, his body broken and battered at the hands of rampaging marshmen. Yet here he was, somehow alive and well once more. The others he began to recognise too - the girl he was teasing was Keara, and Tylos and the some of the other Outlers were there, joining in the horseplay. Then someone shouted and pointed in his direction, and the rest of the group turned, smiling and waving. Adric laughed, overjoyed to see his brother and friends once again. He waved back at them, and began to swim eagerly towards the shore. He lost sight of them momentarily as he increased his stroke rate and dipped his head under the water, but spotted their happy, smiling faces once more as he resurfaced.   
Clouds drifted across the face of the sun as Adric ploughed through the water, dipping below the waves once more. But this time when his head emerged the scene before him had changed. No longer smiling and waving, his friends on the shore were now shouting, beckoning… screaming. Adric stopped and trod water, confused. The rest of the Outlers began to turn and run, their faces terror-stricken, whilst Varsh and Keara remained at the water’s edge, their voices gaining an edge of desperation:  
“ADRIC! GET OUT OF THE WATER!”  
An icy chill trickled down Adric’s neck, as thin tendrils of cold, white mist began to drift into his vision from the vast expanse of the marsh behind him. The sensation quickly spread down his spine as realisation hit him.

Mistfall.

Suddenly, the murky water started to bubble and churn around the young Alzarian as he frantically resumed his swim towards the shore. The increasingly panic-stricken screams of his friends rang in his ears over the noise of the boiling marsh. Keara, unable to contain her fear any longer, broke and ran for the Starliner, screaming at Varsh to follow her. Varsh remained at the water’s edge, glancing back at the fleeing girl but unable to leave his brother, desperately urging him on towards the safety of the shore. Adric drew nearer and nearer – the turbulence of the water made it increasingly difficult to keep afloat, but eventually he felt his booted feet scrape against the marsh bed. Varsh ran into the shallows, reaching out for his brother’s outstretched hand. Scrambling to find his feet in the soft, weed-ridden mud, Adric flung himself forward, momentarily relieved to find his hand firmly grasped by that of his older brother.   
Relief that suddenly drained away to be replaced by a deep, visceral fear as he felt a similar grip around his ankle. Adric saw the colour drain from his brother’s face as Varsh looked beyond him, into the churning depths of the marsh. He reached out with his other hand to grab hold of the older Alzarian’s wrist.  
“Varsh! Don’t leave me!”  
Locking fear-filled eyes with his brother, Varsh pulled with every last vestige of his strength, but felt Adric’s hands slipping in the wetness of his own.  
“Adric!” he cried, his voice breaking. “I can’t – they’re too strong!”  
Adric’s feet floundered in the mud, desperately slipping and splashing until finally he found a foothold against a rock embedded in the marsh floor, and used it to fling himself forward, grabbing hold of Varsh’s marsh reed belt. But it was no use. The creature gripping his ankle had been joined by another, who now wrapped his clammy hands tight around Adric’s other leg.   
“VARSH! HELP ME!”  
“ADRIC! NO!”  
It was a tug of war that Varsh couldn’t win. Adric’s hand slipped from his grasp as Varsh felt himself pulled forward by his brother’s remaining grip on his belt. Then, with an animalistic surge of strength, the marsh creatures hauled the screaming Adric backwards into the water, breaking the marsh reed belt and sending Varsh flying backwards towards the shore.  
The last thing Adric saw was the grief-stricken face of his brother, stood helplessly grasping his Outler’s belt, before his head was pulled below the waves into the murky depths of the Alzarian marsh.  
For a moment no-one moved, and time seemed to stand still as if the Sanctum were frozen within its own, self contained stasis field. It lasted a split second. Then all hell broke loose.   
“NO!” bellowed the Doctor, surging to his feet. The violence of his movement caught the Fosters off guard and sent them crashing to the floor. The Doctor began to shoulder-barge his way through the crowd towards the dais, his hands still bound in front of him. Frightened dignitaries screamed and leapt out of his path.  
“SEIZE HIM!” shrieked Jonaris, as he backed away from the advancing Time Lord, the ceremonial blade held defensively in front of him. Several Fosters began to push their way through the frightened throng to intercept the prisoner, whilst on the dais the two Fosters guarding Nyssa moved into action, one drawing an energy pistol whilst the other grabbed her arms and forced her to her knees.   
Nyssa did not resist. An unexpected feeling of peace washed over her as she knelt, head bowed, calm and accepting, the Foster’s gun pressing insistently against her temple. It felt… fitting, somehow, that she, the last Trakenite, should die on the soil of the Union - that her soul should ascend from the crucible of the Source to join her lost brethren. She closed her eyes, shutting out the madness around her for the final time.  
Then suddenly, she felt herself fall forward to the floor as the grip on her arms relaxed and the pressure of the muzzle at her temple unexpectedly fell away. Nyssa lay for a moment on the cold stone, as the Foster and his surrounding companions inexplicably thudded one by one to the floor around her, motionless and insentient. Then she felt gentle hands pulling her upright, and found herself looking into a pair of familiar eyes.  
“If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll kill you myself!” Tegan berated, before drawing her friend into a tight hug. “Now let’s get out of here!” She helped the Trakenite to her feet and began to pull her towards the tunnel. Nyssa pulled back, standing her ground.  
“No, Tegan. We can’t leave the Doctor!”  
“Hell’s teeth, Nyssa – what do you suggest we do? We can’t take on the whole Serenite security force!”  
Nyssa frowned, rubbing her temples and trying to concentrate despite the noise of the melee within the chamber. “Just let me think for a moment…”  
A few feet away, Suren checked the vital signs of the immobilised Fosters, before surveying the chaos within the Sanctum. The mayhem caused by the Doctor’s insurrection had taken the attention away from the dais, and Tegan’s mad dash from the postern tunnel and subsequent spree with the hypospray had created an island of calm around them, so they were safe for now, surrounded by a haphazard pile of unconscious Fosters. Beyond this temporary sanctuary the Doctor was engaged in a struggle with a number of guards and a smattering of white-clad brothers who had surrounded him and prevented him from reaching the Lady. At the fringe of the action Prime Consul Varden looked on in disdain from the relative safety of his chair, whilst Procardinal Jonaris had taken refuge behind a couple of his burlier acolytes. Suren looked down at Nyssa, and, finding new confidence inspired by her courage, took a deep breath.  
“STOP!!”  
Though the clamour in the chamber was intense, the medic’s bellow was loud and insistent enough to stop people in their tracks and turn to face the source of the interruption.   
“Three hundred years.” Suren stood, arms folded, shaking his head in disgust. “For three centuries we have awaited the coming of the Lady, and now, at the moment of her Divine Manifestation, she returns to find her honoured dignitaries squabbling like children, and has hands laid upon her in violence. My Lords, I am ashamed to call myself Serenite this night.”   
“‘Divine Manifestation?’” The Doctor, surrounded by Fosters and frozen in mid-struggle, looked at the newcomer in confusion. “What on Gallifrey…?”  
He was interrupted by Jonaris, who had emerged from behind his acolytes, his face like thunder. “I would remind you, medic, of where you are and whom you are addressing! We have suffered enough blasphemy from offworlders tonight, but to hear such heretical claims from a citizen of Serenity is simply too much to be borne! Now hold your tongue, boy, or I’ll have it ripped from your head!”  
Suren wavered, but stood his ground. “I speak the truth, my Lord Procardinal. You are in the presence of the Lady. Surely her highest and most esteemed servant can see that?”  
“I give you one last warning, medic,” the clergyman growled. “This loathsome heresy marks you out for death! For the last time, be SILENT, or your next words shall be your LAST!”  
The young medic reached into his pocket. “Words are obviously meaningless to you, Procardinal. If you refuse to believe mine, then take a look at this, and judge for yourself!“ He pulled the hand reader from his pocket and threw it across the Sanctum. It soared through the air above the heads of the crowd, to be caught by a member of the Order and handed over to the fuming Jonaris. He gave it a cursory examination before glaring at Suren impatiently.  
“And is this scientific nonsense supposed to mean something to me?” He handed the reader to Varden, who examined the display with interest, his face unreadable.  
“It is the result of a routine DNA scan performed on this patient whilst she recovered from stasis injuries in my Infirmary. It confirms her planet of origin.”   
“And why, in the Keeper’s name, should I care about that?” Jonaris sneered.   
Varden spoke, his eyes still fixed on the hand reader.   
“She’s from Traken.”  
The Prime Consul’s words provoked an outburst of gasps from the assembly, many of whom now turned to look at Nyssa in awe, whispering and pointing out the sleeping Fosters arrayed at her feet.   
The Doctor cleared his throat loudly. “Ah, now, I think I can explain…”  
Varden raised a finger, and the Doctor stopped in mid-sentence as two energy rifles were shoved into his ribs. “Be silent, Herald. I shall deal with you momentarily.” He returned his gaze to Suren, pausing to contemplate for a moment before speaking softly.   
“If true, Suren, this is indeed an amazing and wonderful discovery. But DNA alone does not a Goddess make. This may just mean that somewhere, somehow, a small pocket of our Trakenite cousins miraculously escaped the Darkness. Maybe they were merchants, by chance offworld at that vital moment. Perhaps this girl is their direct descendant, and has preserved that noble bloodline. Unlikely and unprecedented, certainly. But possible, I suppose. However that does not, I am afraid, mean that she is our most benevolent Lady.” Suren nodded respectfully, taking in the Prime Consul’s words and weighing their truth.  
“My Lord, as a scientist I wholeheartedly respect your logic and need for further verification. But I would ask you to look again at the report. The results grouped under the heading ‘Anomalies’ should be the confirmation you desire.”  
The silence held as Varden scanned down, his eyes widening as he did so. He looked back at the medic. “Is – is this what I think it is?” Suren nodded solemnly. “Then… the Source Marker is there? She is of the aristocracy?”  
“She is, my Lord.”  
“Varden – I cannot believe you are giving credence to this … this scientific trickery!” Jonaris raged, his bloated face becoming purple once more.  
“Pray to me.”  
The small, determined voice came from across the chamber. Nyssa stood on the dais, flanked by Suren and Tegan, her eyes fixed on the Procardinal.  
“Nyssa,” the Doctor began, disapprovingly, “I don’t think this is the time or the place – “  
“Pray to me, Procardinal, and I will answer you.”

 

Adric was running out of air. He didn’t know how far down into the marsh the creatures had dragged him, but the distant spot of the sun on the surface and the burning sensation in his chest told him it was far enough. His survival instinct kicking in, he ripped his badge from his tunic and, after fumbling with the pin, managed to somehow turn and stab it into the slimy hand holding on to his ankle. He heard a high pitched, underwater scream of pain as the creature swiftly released its grip. He quickly turned his attention to the second beast, plunging the sharp pin again and again into the vice-like claw. He felt ragged talons scrape down his calf, then all of a sudden he was free, the Alzarian sun growing bigger and bigger as he desperately kicked towards the surface, his lungs screaming for oxygen.   
He emerged violently into the humid air once more, coughing and spluttering as he took deep rasping breaths, forcing his starving lungs into action. He had surfaced some way down the shore, mercifully close to a small jetty. He quickly swam to it, hauling himself out of the water to lie gasping on the warm, rough-cut wood, his Star of Mathematical Excellence grasped tightly in his hand.  
Adric lay still for a moment, cold mist drifting across his vision, the sound of his own laboured breathing filling his ears. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart thudding wildly within his chest. Then, as he slowly regained his composure, he became aware of another sensation: a deep rumbling sound, vibrating through the solid wood beneath his body. He sat up sharply.  
The Starliner!  
Spray from his soaking wet clothes scattered across the planks of the jetty as Adric leapt to his feet and began to race towards the forest. He could hear the engines now, could feel the ground trembling beneath his feet. A single thought ran through his mind, where it replicated over and over again.  
Varsh won’t leave me. Varsh would never leave me.  
Sprinting with a speed born of desperation, Adric burst through a thicket to be confronted by a wall of heat. The Starliner was across the clearing, smoke billowing as its massive engines began to whine and scream.  
Varsh won’t leave me.  
The airlock was still open. Adric raised his arm to protect his face and ran towards it, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes.  
Varsh would NEVER leave me.  
He heard a shout from the entryway. His brother was there, beckoning him home, back to civilisation, logic and reason. Adric waved in response, his heart soaring.  
Varsh won’t leave me!  
A figure emerged from behind his brother. A familiar figure, petite, with brown hair tumbling around her face in untamed curls, cascading down onto shoulders clad in plum-coloured velvet. At the back of his mind Adric knew she shouldn’t be there, and yet somehow it didn’t feel strange.  
Varsh won’t…  
Varsh smiled as her arms encircled his waist, and he bent towards her, their lips meeting in a deep and passionate kiss.  
“VARSH!” Adric screamed and stopped dead in his tracks, shocked to the core by his brother’s betrayal. Breaking off their kiss, Nyssa turned to Adric, smiling cruelly, an expression Adric had never seen on the Trakenite’s face before. Never taking her eyes from him, she casually reached out with her small, slender hand and activated the airlock mechanism.  
“NO!” Adric cried, as he stood helplessly and watched the Starliner slowly rise from the Alzarian soil, the laughing faces of Nyssa and Varsh mocking him from the airlock window.  
Alone once more, he sank down to his knees and wept.

 

Varden sat back in his chair, fingers steepled, a sardonic smile playing across his thin lips. “An interesting concept, don’t you agree, Procardinal?”  
Jonaris turned to the Prime Consul in exasperation. “How dare you give credence to such preposterous blasphemy, Varden? Not a moment ago you passed the death sentence on this heretic, why do you seek to waste our time further?”  
“That was before I knew her ‘heritage’.” Varden smiled at the clergyman, whilst absent-mindedly fiddling with a device on his wrist. “It is a simple yet decisive test – if she passes, you are in the presence of divinity – surely a life’s ambition for you? And if she fails…” He turned his eyes to the Doctor. “She dies. What are you so afraid of?”   
The Doctor, though fully aware he was being manipulated, could not help but take the bait. “Prime Consul, I must protest!”  
Nyssa stepped down from the dais. “Doctor, I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”   
“Nyssa! I don’t think -”  
“Pray to me, Procardinal, and I shall answer.”  
Jonaris looked at the multitude of expectant faces turned towards him, and sighed in irritation, defeated. He had been backed into an inescapable corner, and he knew it. Closing his eyes, he slowly and silently dropped to his knees, raising his meaty clenched fist to his brow.   
Nyssa shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her mind drift into the absolute silence that now ruled the Sanctum. The multitude of disembodied voices resurfaced into her consciousness, a constant yet incoherent stream of words tumbling over each other, their meaning lost in the turmoil. She smiled faintly, growing more confident that she knew their source. Waiting patiently, she opened her mind to the distant and unintelligible syllables that washed over her like a babbling stream.  
Then suddenly, there it was - the Procardinal's voice, clear and instantly recognisable, slicing its way through the background murmur like a shaft of light cutting through dense fog. Her inward smile broadened as she heard his words reverberating around her mind, his reluctant prayer enunciated with perfect clarity in the practised tones of a man well versed in the art of communicating with the divine. After a few moments she collected herself, took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She looked at Jonaris, her countenance serenely confident.  
“I cannot do that, Procardinal.”  
Nyssa’s calm tones interrupted the perfect stillness within the chamber, provoking a multitude of hushed whispers from the assembled dignitaries, and causing the kneeling clergyman’s eyes to snap open. His surprised expression immediately degenerated into a sneering, twisted smile as, with the help of his attendants, he struggled to his feet.  
“You see?” he gloated, turning towards the seated Consulate – “She admits it! She is nothing more than a fraud, a vile blasphemer!”  
“I cannot do what you ask, Procardinal, because the request you made of me is not within my power, nor would I wish to carry it out even if it were.”  
Tegan stepped forward to join the Trakenite, who stood at the foot of the dais, her eyes fixed on Jonaris as every other eye in the Sanctum was fixed on her. “Nyssa? You mean – are you saying you heard his prayer?”   
Nyssa nodded without removing her stare from the Procardinal, whose expression was becoming less self-assured by the second.   
“Most Benevolent Lady,” Nyssa began, pacing slowly towards him.   
“I, your faithful servant implore you and invoke your divine might…”   
The colour began to drain from the Procardinal’s face.   
“Strike down this vile heretic who has dared to defile your Holy Soil with her falsehoods!” She stood inches from him now, throwing her arms out wide in a dramatic gesture.  
“Appear before us now, O Lady, that your true majesty may drive out this darkness forever!”  
Jonaris recoiled, speechless, his rotund face a mask of horror. The Doctor and Tegan were similarly dumbstruck. Nyssa lowered her white-robed arms.   
“Do you see, Procardinal? I cannot do as you ask. I cannot strike myself down, as you so desperately desire.” She smiled sweetly, and spoke in a whisper that only the shaking cleric could hear.   
“And I am already here.”

 

Adric looked up into the darkening Alzarian sky, where the Starliner was rapidly disappearing into the ether, the noise from the massive engines fading to a distant rumble. He was alone once more, abandoned, unwanted. He looked down at the star-shaped emblem resting in the palm of his hand. It was a symbol of science, a reward for his hard work and conformity. But where exactly had that got him? He folded his fingers around it, clutching it so tightly that the edges dug into his skin and blood began to drip from his fist onto the wet grass beneath him.  
As the far-off roar from the ship’s engines dwindled, Adric came to notice another sound, an alien noise that stood out from the background ambience of the forest. He jumped to his feet, recognising it immediately – a familiar, wheezing/groaning sound…  
Locating the general direction the noise was emanating from, he ran back through the forest, crashing through trees and foliage, his heart soaring. The TARDIS! The Doctor had come back for him!  
He reached a clearing, just in time to witness the welcome sight of the large blue craft fading into existence before him, growing more solid with each passing second. Then with a ‘thump’ there it was, real, tangible. Adric had never been more pleased to see anything in his life. He started across the clearing, anxious to be inside the protective shell of the Gallifreyan ship once more, in a place that had been more of a home than anywhere else in his short existence.   
The time-worn blue door began to creak open, but Adric stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who emerged from the dimensionally transcendental interior. For it was not the fair-haired, younger Doctor he had last seen on Serenity, but the curly-haired, scarf-laden Doctor whose ‘death’ he had witnessed in the shade of the Pharos Project radio telescope on Earth.   
The Doctor that had rescued him from Alzarius. The Doctor that had taken him under his wing, and had promised to show him the secrets of the universe as they travelled together, just the two of them.   
As the Time Lord’s head protruded from the doorway, he looked around the clearing to survey his new surroundings. His eyes eventually fixed on Adric, and the wide toothy grin that followed betrayed his recognition of the young Alzarian. The Doctor stepped out of the doorway, beckoning the boy towards him enthusiastically. Adric smiled, overjoyed to see his former mentor, and resumed his run towards the ship, back to the promise of knowledge and science.  
He had made it halfway across the clearing when another figure suddenly emerged from the TARDIS doorway. Clad in a purple skirt and blouse, she stared at Adric, smiling cruelly, her eyes and lips reddened as they had been while she was possessed by the Mara. As Adric’s voice froze within his throat she moved forward, grabbing the Doctor’s scarf from behind and laughing as she pulled him viciously backwards into the TARDIS. The Doctor, choking, held his hands out to Adric in a desperate plea for help. But Adric was too far away. He started forward, shouting at Tegan to stop, but she was too quick, and had hauled the Time Lord back into the console room and slammed the door before Adric was even halfway there.  
“NO!” cried Adric, sprinting across the remaining distance and hammering on the doors with impotent rage and frustration. After a few moments he was driven back by a searing, brilliant light bursting from within the TARDIS, streaming out through the windows and door seams. Adric staggered backwards, bringing his arm up to protect his eyes. And then as suddenly as it began, the light faded.   
He sat back on the grass, shaking his head whilst his vision cleared. The forest around him had been momentarily silenced by the unusual event in the clearing, but now began to slowly spring back into life as various creatures sounded their alarms in echoing calls, whoops and whistles. Then once again the unnatural sound of the TARDIS door creaking open captured the boy’s attention. A familiar pair of striped trousers entered Adric’s peripheral vision and began striding slowly towards where he sat. They stopped a couple of metres away, and were joined by a more shapely pair clad in purple, high-heeled shoes. Adric looked up into the younger, newly regenerated face of the Doctor he had last seen on Serenity. The fair-haired Gallifreyan looked down at the muddy, bedraggled boy and smiled. But his words called forth Adric’s worst fears.  
“I’m terribly sorry Adric, but two companions are enough for any Time Lord. There’s just no room for you on the TARDIS crew any more. Goodbye.” And with that he turned and walked back into the TARDIS, without a single backward glance.   
Tegan lingered a little longer. She smiled down at Adric, but the false warmth didn’t make it to her eyes, which radiated cruelty and mocking triumph. She turned on her heel and followed the Doctor back into the console room, closing the battered blue door behind her.   
Adric slumped, dejected, as the rooftop lamp started to flash, and the TARDIS began to slowly dematerialise. As it faded from existence, Adric thought he could make out the sound of scornful laughter echoing around the clearing.  
Then he was alone once more.

 

Luminous green characters from a flickering monitor reflected in the lenses of the grey brother’s spectacles as he stared intently at the information presented before him. He frowned, deep in concentration, then rubbed his eyes wearily before reaching across to activate his aged communicator once more.   
“Brother - are you there? Can you speak?”  
Static filled the room once more before a hushed voice broke through.  
“ – nding by, Brother. Is it time?”  
“No, Brother. Do not proceed with your previous orders yet. I have just received new instruction. Do you have your tools with you?”  
“Yes Brother. But what – “  
“There’s no time to waste, Brother. Now the first thing you need to do is get out of that Chamber quickly, without drawing attention to yourself…”

 

As Nyssa stood facing the Procardinal, patiently awaiting his response, the silence in the Sanctum was punctuated with gasps, whispers and the sound of rustling clothes. Tegan looked round in amazement to see a significant number of the assembled Serenites getting down on their knees and reverently bowing their heads. She turned to Suren.  
“What’s going on?” she whispered, confused. The medic smiled, his eyes still fixed on Nyssa.   
“They believe.”  
The movements within the chamber were enough to enable Jonaris to break his eyes away from the girl before him and compose himself. He looked around at the room, taking in the increasing number of kneeling dignitaries with horror, before exploding in high-pitched fury.  
“What are you doing?! This is NOT the Lady! I, Her most esteemed servant, tell you so!”  
“Are you declaring, Procardinal, that she is wrong?” Varden's voice rang across the chamber, his amusement at the clergyman's predicament barely contained. “Was this not your prayer?”  
Jonaris eyed the Prime Consul warily. “It was NOT.”  
“I think your face tells a different story, Procardinal.” The Doctor stepped forward, smiling, his guards now less attentive as they became enthralled by the scene being played out before them. “When Nyssa spoke, you looked for all the world as if she had stolen the very thoughts from your head. I think it's clear to everyone in this room that she voiced the words of your prayer.” He turned his gaze towards Nyssa as he spoke, his expression changing to one of concerned bewilderment as he wondered how his young companion had achieved such a feat.  
“A cheap parlour trick!” Jonaris blustered, dismissively. “Some sort of scientific ruse no doubt, probably learned at this man’s feet!” He pointed accusingly at the Doctor, before turning to address the assembly. “This girl is obviously in league with the Harbinger of Darkness, and her lies are undoubtedly designed by him in order to divide us all, and finish the task he began three centuries ago! Now this has gone on long enough - I will not condone the continuance of such unmitigated, sacrilegious nonsense any further!” He gestured to his attendant acolytes – “Seize her!”  
The acolytes hesitated, torn between their duty to the Procardinal and the religious beliefs that had been drummed into them from an early age, now seemingly manifested in the girl before them. Nyssa took the opportunity to speak.  
“I am Trakenite, Procardinal – Suren’s DNA report has proven that much – and having lived all my life in the light of the Source I find it very difficult to lie.” She stood defiantly before him with all the aristocratic poise and regal bearing she could muster. “I am who I am, and I cannot change that, however much it may displease you. I am Nyssa of Traken, daughter of Tremas, Consul of Traken and Keeper Nominate. I have subjected myself to examination, both physical and spiritual, and I have shown myself worthy.” She turned her attention to Prime Consul Varden. “Now I ask that you release my companions, end this Inquisition, and let the Doctor go free. He has done no wrong here, and if it weren’t for his actions none of you would be stood here today. We all owe him our lives–” she looked at the Doctor and smiled – “some of us several times over in fact.”  
The screaming cleric clenched his fists and stamped his foot heavily on the stone floor in a display of temper more suited to a chastened toddler than a religious leader.   
“SEIZE HER NOW, OR YOU WILL PAY WITH YOUR LIVES!!!”   
One of the acolytes sprang forward, his loyalties decided by the more immediate threat presented by Jonaris, and grabbed the petite Trakenite by the arms, brushing a protesting Tegan and Suren aside in the process. Nyssa instinctively struggled, but the acolyte was too strong for her, preventing her escape further by encircling an arm around her torso and pinning her arms to her sides. She cried out as she felt a crushing pain in her chest and arm, followed by a sickening sound as her weakened bones splintered. She gasped as an agony, beyond the reach of the painkillers still coursing around her veins, erupted across her chest. 

 

Adric lay in the lush grass of the clearing, staring up at the Alzarian sky and the faint, lingering vapour trail of the Starliner drifting away on the breeze. Tears flowed back across his temples into his thick black hair, then down into the fragrant soil below. Disjointed thoughts echoed as his head swam, circling on the verge of despair:

Orphaned.  
Outcast.  
Unwanted.  
Unloved.  
Abandoned.

Alone.

The final word seemed to echo around his consciousness, reverberating until it seemed to escape the confines of his skull and fill the clearing, resounding off the trees and growing somewhat mocking in tone, amplifying itself and growing louder and louder until it seemed to fill the whole world and Adric could bear it no longer. He sat up and cried out in anguish, startling the surrounding wildlife and sending a flock of birds into panicked flight. Then all was quiet once more.  
Adric roughly drew his hand across his eyes, took a shaking breath and desperately tried to gather himself. He looked around the clearing, trying to focus on something - anything, but the forest swam before him in a dizzying dance. The trees themselves seemed to move and sway, bending themselves into unnatural, twisted shapes. Then suddenly Adric noticed a voice on the breeze... coaxing, pleading, yearning…  
“Adric, you must help us come full circle… lead us out of the darkness, back to truth, light and knowledge…”  
Dark, snarling shapes began to detach themselves from the trees swimming across Adric’s vision. They stalked towards him, uncurling their gnarled, claw-like hands and taking deep, rasping breaths…  
“…Our people have been forsaken, Adric, abandoned and left alone in the dark… help us right that wrong by destroying those responsible….”  
Adric looked down at his hands. His fingers had become gnarled talons, his skin blotched and covered in scales.  
“…Help us become again what we once were…”  
He felt something building inside him, a deep primal rage that began to course through his veins like liquid fire, seething and burning.  
“...destroy those who claim to love us with one breath, while casting us into hell with another…”  
A low snarl emanated from Adric's lips.  
“...Complete the Keeper's prophecy... Adric? Adric - NO! What are you doing?... Brother – are you there? I think we may have a problem here…”  
Adric stood in the centre of the clearing, his body fully transformed. As he raised his arms and let out a raw, animal scream, he was joined by his fellow Marshmen, creating a bloodthirsty chorus that echoed into the darkening Alzarian sky.

 

With a shout the Doctor leapt forward, escaping his guards and jumping on the acolyte holding Nyssa from behind. He somehow managed to get his arms over the acolyte’s head, and pulling his stun cuffs across the larger man’s windpipe he heaved backwards. The acolyte let out a strangled cry, releasing Nyssa as he clutched at his throat. The Trakenite crumpled to the floor in a semi-sentient heap. Within the Sanctum the commotion reached a crescendo as Consuls shouted, dignitaries ran screaming and Time Lord and acolyte span, locked together in combat. Then all of a sudden they were surrounded by Fosters, and the clamour subsided as Varden strode towards the dais, barking orders as he tapped keys on the device on his wrist. Fosters grabbed the Doctor and the acolyte, separating and restraining them both.   
“Tegan! Help Nyssa!” The Doctor continued to struggle as Tegan rushed to where Nyssa lay, unmoving.   
“I’ve got you Nyssa, you’re going to be ok!” she soothed, pulling her friend to her in a protective hug. Suren looked at the Trakenite in concern, before picking up the hypospray from where Tegan had discarded it on the floor. He fumbled in his pocket for another vial before inserting it into the handle and injecting the fluid into the bare skin of Nyssa’s neck.   
“There are some fractured bones, and from the way she’s breathing I think she may have punctured a lung,” he said hurriedly over the noise echoing around the walls. “That extra dose of painkillers should help for now, but we need to get her back to the Infirmary as soon as possible.”  
Varden noted this exchange as he stood, a few metres away, surveying the scene within the Sanctum. As his Fosters began to regain control he turned to Jonaris, a sneering smile playing across his lips that wasn’t quite reflected in his eyes. “Well, Procardinal – I must say that’s a fine day’s work. Not only have you failed to eliminate the Herald, but you have also failed to recognise the very deity that you have spent your life in devotion to, and nearly managed to kill her, all in the space of a few short hours. You must be so pleased with yourself!”  
The cleric turned to the Prime Consul, his temper boiling over once more.  
“For the last time, this impostor is NOT The Lady! Do you really think Her Holiness would appear before us in this manner? For Keeper’s sake, man – there would have been a SIGN!”  
“Look!”  
The shout from the crowd immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room, and all eyes turned towards the end of the Sanctum, where the Keeper’s chamber sat dark and empty beneath the small hearth where the Source flame once danced.

“The Fire! It burns!”


	5. Mind Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyssa's revelation in the Sanctum has repercussions as the cause of the voices becomes clear...

**Chapter 5 – Mind Games**

 

Wiping a shaking hand across his sweat-drenched brow, the grey brother raised the comlink to his lips.  

“You have done enough, Brother.  Get out of there as discreetly as you can, and return to headquarters.  I have a situation here which requires your… _expertise_.”

A crackling acknowledgement bounced off the walls of the chamber.  The acolyte rubbed his eyes wearily as he turned back to the monitor, shaking his head as he assessed the grainy image before him.   

“Poor Novin…” he sighed. "What has that boy done to you?”

 

 

Suren raised his head from Nyssa's chest and looked at Tegan, his expression betraying his anxiety and concern in a manner that mirrored the Earth woman's feelings precisely.  

“There are definitely decreased breath sounds on the left hand side of the chest cavity, and–” he looked back to Nyssa, who moaned incoherently as a rivulet of blood trickled from her nostril. 

“I think there's internal bleeding.  We need to get her out of here, my Lady, _quickly.”_

Tegan got to her feet and looked around the Sanctum, the feeling of panic that seemed to have become her frequent companion in the last few weeks stirring within her once more.  The scene in the crowded chamber was calmer now, as the vast majority of the congregation had dropped to their knees, some staring in wonder at the fire burning brightly high above the Inner Sanctum, whilst others looked towards the dais in expectation, or at the Procardinal in confusion.  The notable exceptions were the Prime Consul, who had returned to his seat and was running gnarled fingers through his beard in quiet contemplation, and the Procardinal himself, who stood surrounded by kneeling acolytes, mesmerised by the dancing flames, his face a mixture of consternation and horror.  Tegan's eyes turned towards the only other upright figure in the crowd.  

The Doctor stood in the midst of a sea of kneeling Serenites, his hands still bound and his movements restrained by his attendant Fosters, who had both dropped to one knee but still held their weapons firmly pointed at the Time Lord's chest.  Their eyes locked, and Tegan noted the sense of concerned helplessness held within the Doctor's expression.  She looked back down to Suren, still crouched over Nyssa as he monitored the stricken girl's life signs.  She clenched her fists.  It was down to _her_ now.  

Remembering her air stewardess training, she pushed the growing feeling of panic towards the back of her mind.  She had passengers to help, people looking to her for calm direction and guidance.  Taking a deep breath, she turned to Varden.

“I _believe_ , Prime Consul, that… Her Holiness requested that the Doctor be released.  I suggest that you do so, and allow us to take my Lady for medical attention, before she _dies_ from the damage inflicted by _your_ guards.  Unless, of course, you're happy to have the death of a goddess on your hands?” 

Varden raised his eyebrows at the unexpected outburst as he studied the strangely-attired woman - who seemed to have appeared from nowhere - for the first time.  

“And who, may I ask, are _you_?"

Tegan returned his gaze defiantly, her hands on her hips, chin tilted upwards in a regal manner.  “ _I_ am Tegan Jovanka,” she said haughtily, hesitantly glancing at the Doctor before continuing: “Handmaiden to The Lady.”  

The Time Lord frowned but kept silent, not fully understanding the game Tegan was playing, but recognising that he was unable to do anything other than go along with it. 

“‘Handmaiden’?” Varden questioned.  “Interesting... our sacred texts make no mention of such a person, especially not one so…” he looked her up and down - “ _strange_ in appearance.”

Tegan took a sharp intake of breath, but before she could voice her indignation at the Prime Consul’s comment Suren quickly got to his feet, cutting her off.  

“You can verify her credentials later, Prime Consul, but please - my Lady needs medical attention _now_!”

Looking from the scene on the dais to the Doctor, still bound and restrained, Varden turned over the possibilities in his mind.  After a moment’s quiet contemplation, he turned to the shell-shocked Procardinal.

“Well, Jonaris, what do you have to say on the matter?  Has there been ‘sign’ enough for you?  _Jonaris?”_

The cleric blinked and shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the flame burning above the Keeper's Chamber to look at the Prime Consul.  “I... I don’t…” he stammered.

“I think that answers my question.”  Varden sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily before rising from his chair to address the assembly.  “Doctor - as things stand it seems as though your reputation has been vouched for at the highest possible level.  As such, I have no choice other than to order a - albeit _temporary_ \- stay of execution.”  He looked towards the dais.  “Medic Suren.”

The young physician looked up from his patient, turning to hear the Prime Consul’s words.  

“Since you have made it clear where your loyalties lie, you shall assume responsibility for the Doctor whilst he remains on Serenity.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“But understand this, Suren: as in the days of the Keeper, such ‘privilege‘ comes with a price.  If the Doctor should infringe the law in any way, then your life too shall be forfeit.”  He looked at the medic gravely.  “I hope, for your sake, that you have chosen well.”

Suren bowed nervously, his eyes flicking between the bound Time Lord and the injured girl at his feet, before returning to address his leader.  “I understand, Prime Consul.  Now please, I beg your leave to remove my Lady to the Infirmary before it is too late!”

Nodding his head in assent, Varden signalled to the Fosters surrounding the Doctor, who gritted his teeth in pain as his hands were untethered at last.  

Wasting no time, the Doctor made his way towards the dais, rubbing the inflamed, painful skin at his wrists and trying to shake some feeling back into his fingers as he strode determinedly through the crowd.  

Tegan ran to him as he mounted the steps.  “Doctor! Are you–”

The Doctor brushed her aside as he hurriedly knelt next to Nyssa, swiftly assessing her condition before gently scooping her up into his arms and turning to his newly-appointed guardian.  

“I gather you have a medical facility nearby?”  

“Y-yes.  It’s–”

“Right.  Lead on then, quick as you can!”  He hefted Nyssa’s slight form in his arms and began to move off in the direction indicated by Suren, when Tegan pulled at his elbow.  

“Doctor?  Where’s–”

The Doctor brusquely cut her short, her entreaty dying unsaid on her lips.  “Tegan, now is _not_ the time!” he hissed, hurrying her forward.  “Let’s just get Nyssa to safety as quickly as we can.”  The assembly parted reverently as they followed in Suren’s wake, heading towards the heavy Sanctum door.  The Doctor leaned towards Tegan slightly as the crowd thinned.  “And perhaps on the way you can explain to me exactly _why_ these people think Nyssa is a goddess, and that you’re some form of... ‘celestial lady-in-waiting’, hmm?”

As Varden watched Herald, Lady and Handmaiden depart, he stood absent-mindedly twisting his beard around his fingers, deep in thought.  After a few moments he signalled to Proctor Morovan, who hurried forward.

“Have Drevus tail them,” he muttered discreetly.  Morovan nodded silently, before hurrying off to regroup his men, most of whom had begun ushering the crowd of bewildered dignitaries toward the exit.  

Rubbing his fatigued brow, the Prime Consul turned towards his religious counterpart.  The rotund Procardinal stood in the middle of the Sanctum, staring at the Source flame burning brightly above the empty Keeper’s Chamber, his expression alternating between horrified disbelief and outright fear.  Varden allowed himself a wry smile.

“Well, Procardinal - how are you feeling?”  

Jonaris tore his eyes reluctantly from the dancing flames, and looked at Varden in confused irritation.  “What?”

Varden spread his arms wide.  “How do you _feel_ Jonaris?  I can’t begin to imagine... I mean, well... it’s not every day you meet _God,_ is it?!”    

 

 

Footsteps echoed as the grey acolyte paced up and down a dimly lit corridor, beating out a steady rhythm on the stone floor.  He turned suddenly as a clamour of hurried footfalls mixed with his own, interrupting his even tempo and heralding the arrival of another grey-clad figure.  The newcomer stopped, panting, and raised a closed fist to his sweaty brow.

“I came as quickly as I could, Brother Byrnus.  The Inquisition has been halted and the Herald allowed to leave.  He has taken the girl to the Infirmary.  Suren is with them.”

“All as expected.” Byrnus slowly nodded.  “They will be followed, of course.”

“I can take care of that, Brother.  I’ll just need a couple of men to–”

Byrnus raised his hand.  “That will not be required.  The Herald will do nothing to raise any alarm - for the moment at least - so the surveillance is of no consequence.”

The newcomer frowned.  “Forgive my impertinence Brother, but - how do you know?”

“That is not your concern!”  Byrnus snapped, before sighing and distractedly running his fingers through his hair.  He looked at the stout wooden door before them. “In any case, there are more... _pressing_ matters that we need to attend to.”

As he spoke his eyes were drawn downwards, to where a small, dark pool of blood began to seep, ominously, from under the door.

 

 

“Over here, Doctor!”

The clinical lull of the deserted Infirmary was shattered in an instant as Tegan crashed through the doors.  She led the encumbered Time Lord to the treatment bed that Nyssa had vacated a short time ago, as Suren rushed forward to clear the area.  The Doctor gently placed his Trakenite companion down, and stepped back, looking at Suren expectantly.  The medic looked back at him, confused.

“Doctor?”

The Doctor held up his hands.  “I will assist in any way I can, Suren, but my doctorate does not extend to medicine, and particularly not to _Trakenite_ medicine.  I am happy to defer to your expertise - please, do whatever you need to do to help Nyssa.”

After a moment’s hesitation Suren stepped forward and activated the medicom, his fingers moving over the controls with an impressive speed and dexterity.  The treatment arch sprang to life and began to advance across Nyssa’s recumbent form.  As he activated the diagnostic routines to examine his people’s supreme deity, avidly watched by the Harbinger of Darkness, he began to wonder what else this day could throw at him.

 

 

Varden had left the now-deserted Sanctum and started to head towards his living quarters, his mind working overtime processing the events, implications and possibilities that the past few hours had brought.  Somewhere along the way, however, his preoccupation became so great that he failed to notice the direction his subconscious mind was taking him in, and it was not until he was at the door of his office that he realised he had arrived somewhere other than his intended destination.  He sighed heavily and looked towards the sky, where a rose-tinged glow was just betraying the onset of sunrise.  It was too late to retrace his steps now, he decided, and the only thing he would achieve at home would be to disturb his wife’s sleep, which was never a good idea in his experience.  This was the reason he had had a small bed installed in the ante-chamber to his study in the first place, and as he disengaged the security lock he resigned himself to a fitful couple of hours of sleep wrapped in its familiar folds.  

The dark shadows within the study receded somewhat as the ambient lighting control mechanism noted the Prime Consul’s arrival, factored in the early hour of the morning, and brought the illumination in the chamber up to a dim yet acceptable level.  

As Varden headed in the direction of the ante-chamber the light glinted off an object on a nearby shelf.  It was the model of the Source Manipulator, its opaque sphere glinting as it sat on the dusty shelf.  He reached up and removed it once more from its home, turning it over in his  hands as he veered towards his desk and sat down heavily.  His brow furrowed as he looked into the depths of the orb, as if searching for answers from deep within.  After a few moments, he shook his head and sighed.  The wisdom he sought would not come from here.  Placing the model carefully back on his desk, Varden sat back and closed his eyes, his mind racing.

His peaceful reverie did not last long.  Almost immediately his eyes snapped open again as the door to his chamber crashed against the wall, shattering the early morning stillness.  Varden shot to his feet as Jonaris burst in, unattended and unannounced.  

The heavy door rebounded against the wall with enough force to cause it to slam closed behind the incensed clergyman.  He purposefully strode through the chamber before coming to a halt before Varden’s desk, his meaty hands thudding onto the paper-strewn surface.

“Well?!”

 

 

Tegan woke abruptly, rubbing her eyes as she struggled to remember where she was.  Realisation dawned as she looked across from the uncomfortable couch where she lay to see the Doctor, sat on the other side of the Infirmary waiting area, tapping his steepled fingers together in a rhythmic pattern as he stared into the distance, apparently deep in thought.  

“Any news?” she yawned, struggling to sit up.  Before the Doctor could answer Suren entered the room, his green tunic creased, the large bags under his eyes indicating his level of exhaustion.

“She’s stable.  You can come in now.”

The Doctor and Tegan hurriedly got to their feet and followed the medic back into the ward, where they were relieved to find their companion awake and apparently out of danger.  She lay cradled in the angled bed, propped up with pillows, the treatment arch humming above her upper torso. 

“Nyssa!” The Doctor’s face broke into a wide grin.  “You look a great deal better than the last time we saw you.”

“Thanks to Suren.”  Nyssa smiled weakly.  The Serenite blushed and looked down at his monitor.

“Is she ok?” asked Tegan, eyeing the medical equipment suspiciously.

Suren nodded.  “She will be.  As I was afraid of, the earlier treatment to my Lady’s ribs had caused the skeletal structure to weaken in that area, and so the force of the acolyte’s grip caused a disproportionate amount of damage to a number of bones.  She has a complex fracture to the left humerus, and varying degrees of damage to a number of ribs, including one which ruptured the pleural membrane and penetrated into the lung.”

The Doctor had been examining the treatment arch with interest.  “Nothing Serenite technology can’t handle, I presume?”

Suren took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair.  “Well, yes and no, Doctor.  This equipment predates the destruction of the Union and so is centuries old, and having been designed at a time when the Source was active the medicom sometimes has difficulty in recognising the specific nature of injuries inflicted by violence.”

“Ah, yes - no need for that sort of thing when the Keeper was around, hmm?”   the Doctor mused thoughtfully.

“Exactly.  The diagnostic routines tend to get rather ‘confused’, meaning I had to improvise somewhat with my Lady’s treatment.  Anyway, the immediate danger from the compromised lung has now been resolved, and the bone-knitting cycle is well on its way to completion.”  He looked at Nyssa, his face serious.  “But you _must_ remain here this time, my Lady, until the process is fully complete.”

“I really don’t feel like going _anywhere_ at the moment, so you’ve no need to worry.”  Nyssa smiled warmly.  “Thank you Suren.  I’m greatly indebted to you.”

The medic’s face flushed once more, and he gave a deep bow in response.  “It was my honour, my Lady.”  He turned to Tegan and the Doctor.  “Now, it’s been a long night for everyone, and my Lady needs to rest.  As the sun seems to be up, perhaps I can suggest some breakfast?  There is a refectory just down the corridor.”

Tegan’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food.  In her concern for Nyssa she hadn’t realised how hungry she was.  “Sounds like a good idea to me!  Are you coming Doctor?”  The Time Lord shook his head.  “I think it’s wise in the current climate for someone to stay with Nyssa.  In any case I’m not particularly hungry - being on the verge of execution tends to have a detrimental effect on my appetite.  You two go - I’ll catch up with you later.”

Suren led Tegan to the door, a puzzled expression on his face.  “Just how many times has he been ‘on the verge of execution’?”

Tegan rolled her eyes, laughing.  “Now _that’s_ a long story!”

 

 

“I see you have recovered your tongue, Jonaris.”  Varden regained his composure following the intrusion into his chamber, and resumed his seat.

“Damn it Varden!”  Jonaris thundered.  “This isn’t the time for games!  What the hell are we going to do about this... this _situation?_ ”

Varden sat back and steepled his fingers, smiling.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my dear Procardinal.”

“You know _exactly_ what I mean!” the clergyman raged.  “This...this _girl_ CANNOT be the Lady!  It is - well, it’s just _impossible!”_  

“How so?”

Jonaris, turning his eyes heavenwards, sighed in exasperation.  “We both know the _truth_ , Varden,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone uncharacteristically subdued.  “Now if you would kindly desist from the mind games, perhaps we can discuss exactly what we’re going to _DO_?”  

“Really Jonaris, I don’t understand why you’re so upset.  Just think of the possibilities now that our Lady walks among us!”  Varden smiled.  “And you, her closest servant, are ideally placed to, shall we say, ‘benefit’ from those possibilities, surely?”

“The ‘possibilities’, Varden,” growled Jonaris, “are exactly what I’m afraid of.  As should you be.  This has the potential to jeopardise _both_ our positions, don’t forget.”

“I am completely aware of that, I assure you,” said Varden, picking up the model once more and turning it over in his hands.

“Then you will take action?”

Varden shrugged his shoulders and smiled.  “I would like to help, Jonaris, really I would.  But my hands are tied - you see, this is a _religious_ matter, and therefore - regrettably - _outside my jurisdiction_.”

“Varden....!”  The blood rose in the clergyman’s face but the Prime Consul rose to his feet and carried on regardless.

“Now, I’m sure you have lots of important matters to attend to - you have a goddess to welcome after all!  Word will be out by now, and I’m sure everyone will be expecting a celebration of some kind?”  He rounded the desk and began to steer the incredulous Procardinal to the door.  “So if you don’t mind, it’s been an _extremely_ long and trying day...”  He opened the door and politely gestured for Jonaris to exit.  

Jonaris hovered at the threshold, glaring at Varden.

“You may mock, Varden, but you’re going to have to take this seriously sooner or later.  You know, as well as I, what this could mean for Serenity.”  He looked ominously at the model of the Source Manipulator on the Prime Consul’s desk.  “If she is who she says she is... if that DNA report is correct...”

“But you are adamant that it is _not!_ ” sighed Varden, beginning to lose his patience.  He placed a firm but insistent hand on the clergyman’s shoulder.  “You worry too much, Procardinal, when what you _should_ be worrying about is how you are going to prepare a feast fit for a goddess at such short notice!”  Varden gently pushed Jonaris through the door, and as the Procardinal turned to argue he held up a hand to silence him.

“ _Goodnight_ Jonaris!” he said firmly, before pushing the heavy door home.  He shook his head wearily, then carefully placed the miniature Source Manipulator back on its shelf as he turned towards the ante-chamber and the welcome release of sleep.

 

 

The Doctor grabbed a nearby chair, whirled it around and sat down, facing Nyssa as she laid on the treatment bed.  The arch above her torso hummed, quietly and painlessly repairing the damage to the Trakenite’s ribcage, filling the silence between them.  The Doctor sighed and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“So, I gather you’re a goddess now?”  He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“Tegan told you?”

“Well, I’d worked out as much from what went on in the Sanctum, but Tegan filled me in on the rest whilst Suren was treating you.”  His eyes lowered towards the floor.  “It seems my visit to Traken had an even greater impact than we could possibly have imagined.” 

Nyssa sighed.  “I should have told them the truth, put them right about what really happened on Traken, I realise that.  But at that split second ‘playing the part’ of the Lady seemed the only way to save your life.  I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Well, I’m very grateful for what you did Nyssa!” he exclaimed with a wide smile.  “That’s the second time you’ve saved me from the sharp end of an execution, and I’m more than happy for you to continue to do so!”  His bright grin faded somewhat.  “It does leave us with a problem though, if you still want to settle here.”  

Nyssa nodded in agreement, her expression melancholy.  The Doctor sighed, avoiding her eyes once more.  “So what are you going to do?”

She looked at him, confused.  “Aren’t _you_ going to tell _me_ what I should do?”

The Doctor took her hand in his.  “Nyssa, this is _your_ life... _your_ future.  I can’t tell you how to live it.”  He paused, a pained expression crossing his outwardly youthful face as he let go of her hand again.  “I of all people have no right to have a say in your future.  I’ve messed up your life enough already.”

Nyssa was horrified.  “Doctor - no!  How can you possibly think that?”

He stood up and absent-mindedly fiddled with a switch on a nearby piece of equipment, still seemingly reluctant to meet her gaze.  “It’s not often that I come face to face with the long term... shall we say - ‘ramifications’ - of my wanderings through time, Nyssa, but being here, in the remnants of your civilization, has brought a few things home to me.”  He looked at her, his expression grave.  

“If I hadn’t come to Traken... if I hadn’t seen off the Master, would he have gone on to Logopolis?  Would that fatal entropy have been unleashed?  In all probability if I hadn’t interfered, your homeworld and everyone on it... everyone you loved... would still be alive.”

“Alive, and enslaved to a tyrant!” Nyssa exclaimed.  She tried to sit up, but an insistent alarm noise erupting from the medicom and the intense pain in her ribcage that flared up as a result convinced her that this was not a good idea.  The Doctor eyed the readouts on a nearby monitor before continuing.

“But alive nonetheless.  And where there’s life, there’s hope.”  He shook his head dejectedly.  “The Serenites are right - I brought death and destruction to Traken.  _I_ was the catalyst.”

Nyssa laid back and looked to the ceiling, tears filling her eyes and flowing back into her long, curly hair as she struggled to contain feelings that, in the few short weeks since Traken had been destroyed, she had barely begun to deal with.  She took a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself.  “Doctor, Traken was doomed from the moment the Master’s TARDIS materialised.  If you hadn’t stopped him, he would have gained control of the Source, and with that kind of power in his arsenal... well, the whole _universe_ would have been in danger.”  She looked at him once more.  “I, for one, will always be grateful you were there.  If–”

“‘If’!”  The Time Lord rubbed his hands over his face wearily, before turning to face her.  “Sometimes it seems as if my whole life has revolved around that word.”  After a moment’s pause he stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked back towards the bed.  “But anyway, we’re discussing _your_ life, not mine.  I realise you haven’t really had chance in the past few hours to think about your plans, but your decision does rather affect how we play this whole situation from now on, wouldn’t you agree?”  

Resuming his seat, he peered at her intently.  “So, where do we go from here?”  

 

 

Brother Byrnus had paced back and forth along the dark corridor for some time, his eyes fixed on the ancient stone floor.  As the minutes slowly passed, his cowled head had risen occasionally in response to noises emanating from the other side of the solid door - a cry here, a gutteral snarl there, interspersed with sounds of physical exertion and furniture being scraped across the floor.  Eventually the noises subsided somewhat, to be replaced by an ominous creak as the door opened just enough to admit the hooded head of his colleague.  

Byrnus took a break from his pacing to organise help in removing the still-unconscious Sister Novin from the chamber.  He looked on in dismay as her prone and battered form was removed, before resuming his slow, measured stride once more.

“Brother Byrnus.”

The call echoed down the corridor, causing him to start.  Byrnus squinted into the darkness to see a figure approaching, its head covered in robes similar to his own.  He bowed his head reverently in recognition.

“Father - this is an unexpected honour.  We–”

The newcomer held up his hand, and Byrnus fell into silence.

“There has been much this night of an unexpected nature Byrnus.”  His voice was low and rasping, and carried the weight of age and experience in its tone.  “I wonder if our source is to be completely trusted.”  

Byrnus looked shocked.  “I am sure of it, Father!  How could it be otherwise?  The Herald, the Boy - it is all as was foreseen!”

“Yet now there is a new threat.  A player we were not informed of.”  He paused, looking at Byrnus gravely.

“It seems... _The Lady_ has returned.” 

 

 

Nyssa closed her eyes, turning the possibilities over in her mind.  Her choices were clear, but neither seemed particularly easy.  

Stay, or go?

Leaving in the TARDIS was the simpler option, but that wouldn’t solve any of the issues that had brought her to Serenity in the first place.  She’d still be homeless, an orphaned wanderer.  But staying would bring its own problems.   Her dreams of a normal life here on Serenity, of a home and family, seemed unlikely following her impromptu revelation in the Sanctum.  

She breathed deeply, her brow furrowing.  The voiceless chattering at the back of her thoughts drifted into her consciousness once more, stronger than ever.  But if her theory was right, that was only to be expected...

“Nyssa?”

She opened her eyes and found the Doctor leaning over her, his face concerned.

“Are you in pain?  Shall I get Suren?”

Nyssa put her free hand to her brow, gently shaking her head.  “It’s nothing, Doctor.  Or rather, it’s _something_ , but I don’t think Suren can help.”  She hesitated, looking into the Time Lord’s worried face.  If she told him, explained about the voices increasingly intruding into her thoughts, would he think she was losing her mind?  She sighed deeply.  She had to take that risk.  And besides, if she couldn’t trust the Doctor, who could she trust?  

“I noticed it in the Garden at first.  It was faint then, barely noticeable, and if it hadn’t been for the tranquility around us I probably wouldn’t have become aware of it at all.  But since then, it’s become stronger, I suppose since I first awoke here, in the Infirmary.”

The Doctor frowned.  “And what, exactly, is _‘it’_?”

Nyssa looked away, blushing.  “ _Voices_ , Doctor.  It’s like... like thousands upon thousands of voices, all speaking at once.”  She looked back to gauge his reaction.  He still looked concerned, with a faint glimmer of surprise playing across his features, but she was relieved to see a complete lack of doubt or disbelief.  She should have known, she thought to herself, almost laughing.  It would take much more than _this_ to unsettle a nine-hundred year old Time Lord.

“And what are these... ‘voices _’_... saying?”

“It’s mostly unintelligible.”  She frowned.  “At first it was like whispering on the breeze, faint and impossible to make out.  It’s become louder since then, more intrusive, but there are so many that I still can’t understand them, for the most part.  From their tone though I get a sense of desperation, pleading, sometimes crying out in pain.”

The Doctor had wandered to the end of the bed, his hands behind his back, staring at the floor as he pondered his companion’s story.  “‘For the most part’?”

“Well, there have been a couple of times where I’ve been able to discern a single voice.  Once outside the Sanctum, waiting at the entrance to the Postern Gate, and once... inside.”

Understanding dawned on the Doctor’s face.  “Ah.  The Procardinal’s prayer.  I was wondering how you’d pulled that one off.”

“I could _hear_ him Doctor, loud and clear.  _Inside my mind_.”

He frowned.  “And has the Trakenite species ever shown any evidence of telepathy?”

Nyssa shook her head.  “Not to my knowledge, Doctor.  I had heard it said that my step-mother was a ‘gifted sensitive’, but I always thought that was just some form of non-specific intuition.  And anyway–”

“She wasn’t your genetic ancestor.”  The Doctor finished for her.  He sat down, staring into the middle distance, deep in thought.

Nyssa took a deep breath.  “Doctor, I...”  She fell silent, lacking the confidence to continue.  

The Doctor looked at her, raising his eyebrows expectantly, his reassuring trust in her compelling her to carry on.  

“I... I think somehow, that it’s... the _people of Serenity_ that I’m hearing.  I don’t know how, or why, but I feel that I’m... I’m picking up on their _prayers_.”  She looked down.  “It’s foolish, I know, but...”

The Doctor smiled warmly at his companion.  “Nyssa, an obscure Earth poet once said to me: ‘There are stranger things in heaven and earth, Doctor, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’  Now at the time I was inclined to disagree with him, I mean, once you’ve had dinner with the spontaneously combusting sentient ooze of Hippolytos Prime there’s really not much left in the universe to surprise you.  However these last few centuries have proven me wrong in that respect.  And what you’re saying has a certain logic to it... the one voice you could make out clearly was that of the Procardinal, whose life has been devoted to directing his thoughts heavenward, so it stands to reason that his prayers would be, shall we say, more ‘coherent’ than the rest.”  

He leapt up and began to pace once more, his mind racing.  “So as news of your, erm... ‘appearance’ spreads, then I would expect the prayers of the faithful to become more focussed and numerous, which could account for your feeling of the voices becoming ‘louder’, perhaps...?”            

“That’s what I was thinking, Doctor.”  Nyssa nodded.  

The Doctor appeared not to hear her, lost in his own thought train.  “But I still don’t understand _why...”_ he thought aloud. _“_ And the prayers of an entire planetary population?  Inside one mind?  I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”  

He paced for a few moments more, before turning back to his companion.  “Well, I can’t explain _why_ this is happening to you, Nyssa, but I can do something to help.  I think it would be wise if I helped you to erect some mental barriers - there are some Gallifreyan meditation techniques I can teach you, but that will take some time...”  He looked at her, biting his lip indecisively.  “Of course, there is a much quicker and, ah, more _direct_ way of strengthening your mental defences.”  He paused; Nyssa looked questioningly at him.

“Go on, Doctor, what is it?”

He dropped his eyes to the floor, suddenly bashful for some reason.  “I could initiate telepathic contact with you myself.  Help you build those barriers from the inside.  Guide you through the process, so to speak.”

“And is this something you’ve done before?”

  “A number of times, yes.  Usually with another Time Lord of course, but inter-species contact is possible... if rather more unpredictable.”

Nyssa looked at him, her scientific curiosity piqued but still slightly dubious of what the Doctor was suggesting.  “So you’d be inside my mind...” she mused, frowning.  “Would that mean you’d have access to my memories?  My private thoughts?”

“You can trust me, Nyssa.  I won’t go anywhere you don’t want me to.  But it’s up to you.  If you’d rather stick with the meditation then–”

“It’s fine, Doctor,” she interrupted, a decisive look on her face.  “How do we begin?”

 

 

The heavy door opened with a loud and elongated creak, which reverberated along the corridor and caused Byrnus and his companion to turn their heads sharply.  Their grey-clad colleague exited the room, closing the door behind him and leaning on it, wearily.  

“Well?”

He breathed deeply, wiping the sweat from his forehead.  “The Boy is resting now.  I’ve done what I can, but I’m working blind really - he’s just not reacting to the medication in the way we’d expected.”

“Is he lucid?” asked Byrnus. “Controllable?”

“I honestly don’t know.”  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “He’s much calmer than he was before, but still quite aggressive, and... _animalistic_ somehow.  I don’t know what, if anything, Novin did to trigger this, but–”

“Whatever she did, she has paid the price,” the Father growled dismissively, turning to Byrnus.  “We must proceed.  It is the only way, if logic and science are to be restored to Serenity.”

Byrnus looked shocked.  “But Father - he’s too unpredictable!  How can we hope to control him?”

The Father smiled grimly, his grizzled voice resonating around the dark corridor.  

“Everything is predictable, Byrnus.  _Everything.”_  

 

 

The Doctor stood over Nyssa as she lay on the medical couch, the cool fingers of his left hand gently touching particular points on the Trakenite’s pale skin, starting at her forehead, spreading across her temple and down to her cheek, which flushed slightly as a result of the unprecedented intimacy of the situation.  His right hand held Nyssa’s own, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand in a soothing rhythm.  The only sound in the room was the gentle hum of the treatment arch as it continued its work. 

He closed his eyes, his youthful brow furrowing in concentration as he tentatively reached out with his mind, projecting soft tendrils of thought, searching for an opening into his companion’s consciousness in the mental ether.  This was always the tricky part of inter-species contact, he thought.  The process with another Gallifreyan was always infinitely simpler, as in many ways Time Lords shared the _same_ mind and therefore an instinctive, intuitive telepathic connection that was as easy to establish as the flicking of a switch.  Complete communion with an alien consciousness was always much more difficult to achieve, and despite the Doctor’s extensive experience over the past few centuries the process still felt unnatural to him, especially the somewhat claustrophobic sensation of a mind restricted to the lesser dimensions and unable to enjoy a shared perception spanning the whole of time and space.

It was quite surprising then, moments after he had begun to stretch his senses towards her consciousness, that Nyssa found him first. 

One moment he was projecting his mental self down the neurons, along the dendrites and across the synapses of his body, down into his fingertips where his skin tentatively touched that of his young companion, then the next moment she was _there_.  The Time Lord felt a familiar, warming presence wash over him as Nyssa mentally reached out to him, guiding him in.

The Doctor raised his brows, eyes still closed, as he was momentarily taken aback by his companion’s less than passive role in the mental process.  Surprised by the strength of Nyssa’s telepathic presence, he paused for a moment, and silently wondered why neither he nor the TARDIS had picked up on her evidently substantial abilities before.  Making a mental note to investigate later, he took a deep breath and opened his mind towards her, allowing their consciousnesses to become entwined.

 

Contact.

 

As the thoughts, memories and feelings of Time Lord and Trakenite mingled, the Doctor tensed, screwing his eyes up tight as if in pain as he fought to retain his sense of self in the jumble of feelings and personalities.  An unexpected depth of feeling radiated from Nyssa the likes of which he had seldom experienced, causing him to grit his teeth as he fought against the sudden onrush.  Fear, loneliness, anxiety, confusion, despair, grief - all washed over him in a staggering outpouring of emotion that stimulated his twin hearts into a completely unfamiliar rhythm, pounding violently in his chest and threatening to escape his ribcage.  The swell of feeling ebbed and flowed across his senses like the waves of a turbulent sea, one moment peaking into a crest that threatened to overwhelm him, the next receding into the ether, leaving him bereft and breathless.  He instinctively increased his own mental shielding against the psychic onslaught emanating from his companion, dampening the telepathic receptors in his brain to lessen the impact of the intense feelings that Nyssa was sharing with him.  Within the space of a few seconds the thudding in his chest began to quieten as he felt the emotional bombardment diminish to a more tolerable level.  He sighed in relief and took a moment to gather himself.  

As he did so, he began to perceive something on an entirely different level.  The reduction in psychic noise revealed a quieter, almost _audible_ sensation: a lower level accompaniment to the torrent of emotion which had previously masked it, one which shared its peaks and troughs but appeared to be manifested on an entirely different wavelength.  The Doctor contemplated this for only the briefest moment before his shared perception with Nyssa allowed him to see both question and answer in the same instant - these were the innumerable streams of muttered thought, the voices that his companion had identified.  They permeated through their interlaced consciousness, an incessant confusion of words that tumbled over each other, muddled and unintelligible.  He realised with some relief that the interminable, despairing emotions he had just encountered within Nyssa’s mind must also originate, not from her, but from some external source - they were as much hers as the voices forcing their way into her mind.  But what source?  For what reason?  And most importantly, why was _Nyssa_ their focus?  The questions hung in the ether, unanswerable.      

The Doctor gently probed deeper into his companion’s subconscious, noting with interest that the low level murmuring seemed to get louder as he moved beyond conscious thought and towards the hindbrain, the realm of involuntary actions and instinct.  Once more increasing his mental shielding he pressed deeper, breaking out into a sweat as the maelstrom of voices and emotions became thunderous, increasing in intensity until it took all his mental effort to block it out... louder and louder until finally he broke through, gasping, into what felt like an epicentre: an oasis of silence and peace at the heart of the screaming torrent.  

And that was where he found her.

Nyssa lay, perfectly still, in the eye of the storm.  Or at least, he mused, he was perceiving a manifestation of her psyche, as his brain processed the manifold and multi-layered perceptions it was being bombarded with and tried to interpret them through his visual cortex in a way that he was likely to understand.  She was curled up tightly into a defensive ball, her arms wrapped around her head and her eyes screwed up tight.  He moved forward, kneeling next to her and gently touching her shoulder.  Her eyes immediately snapped open, her pained expression changing in an instant to one of relief as recognition dawned.  She sat up and hugged him, which he indulged for a short while, simultaneously observing and experiencing the relief that his presence had brought.

After a moment he gently touched Nyssa’s shoulder, and they moved apart, the Doctor sitting cross-legged opposite her.  He took her small hands in his own.  No words were necessary, as their entwined consciousnesses exchanged ideas at the speed of thought.  The Doctor closed his eyes.

‘Just relax, Nyssa,‘ he thought, breathing deeply.  He felt the tension in her soften slightly.  ‘Relax and let me guide you.‘

‘We’re going to build a wall.’

 

 

Rose-tinged rays of sunshine began to stream into the opulent atrium of the Procardinal’s palace, bouncing off the polished marble floor to become captured by the numerous gleaming treasures adorning the room, before being magnified and released in glimmers and sparkles that danced on the high ceiling, giving the empty entranceway a peaceful, ethereal air.

“Fenravic!”

The early morning peace was immediately shattered as Procardinal Jonaris crashed through the doorway, slamming the heavy double doors behind him and causing a number of the priceless items surrounding him to leap on their pedestals.  He stomped through the atrium, red-faced and puffing, and headed up a large and imposing stairway in the direction of his audience chamber.

“FENRAVIC!”

He burst through the doors of his office, his face even redder after the exertion of climbing the stairs, and began to pace about the luxurious chamber, his sweaty brow furrowed and his eyes fixed furiously upon the exquisitely patterned floor.  After a few moments the sound of frantic footsteps emerged over the rasp of his laboured breathing, and a hastily dressed cleric rushed into the room, smoothing his uncombed hair before donning his skullcap and standing to attention before the pacing Procardinal.

“My Lord?”  The cleric was grey haired and gaunt, worry-lines etched deep into his face from untold years of servitude to both the Order and the explosive temper of his Procardinal.

“Get me some wine, Fenravic.  And make it the good stuff, not that godawful swill we give to the congregation!”

“Of course, my Lord Procardinal.”  Fenravic bowed deeply and hurried out of the chamber, glad to be released from his master’s presence so quickly.

Jonaris paced for a moment more, deep in thought, before striding towards his desk and ripping open a drawer.  He removed a comlink and sat in his high-backed chair.

“Are you there?” 

The comlink crackled for a moment before a distorted voice answered in the affirmative.  

“Get here _now_ ,” the Procardinal growled.  “I’ve got a job for you.”  He deactivated the comlink and threw it back into the drawer, slamming it shut.

Fenravic trotted back into the room, carefully balancing an intricately carved goblet on a gilded tray, trying desperately not to spill the contents despite his obvious excitement.  Jonaris looked up at him, eyes white under his sullen brow.

“What in the Union are _you_ so happy about, Highbishop?” Jonaris grunted, snatching the goblet from the tray and managing to spill half of it across his desk in the process.

“Is it true, my Lord?  Some of our brothers have just now returned from the Sanctum, and they’re saying... well, it can’t possibly be true, can it?”  He paused, torn between joy and trepidation.  

Jonaris took a deep draft from his goblet, before setting it down heavily and wiping his mouth.  “Well?  Spit it out, man!”

“They... they are saying that… that The Lady has returned!”

The Procardinal slowly turned the goblet around, running a plump finger over the intricate pattern, deep in thought.

“My Lord, is it _true_?”

Jonaris reluctantly met his subordinate’s nervous gaze, aware that with his answer he held the future of Serenity in his hands, and that his next few words could set in motion a chain of events that would reverberate throughout history.  He weighed each one heavily, before uttering them in a low voice, monotonous and bereft of emotion.

“It is so.”

Fenravick took a deep breath, hands clenched over his heart, eyes shining with joyous rapture.  But his elation was stopped in its tracks by the raising of a meaty hand.

“I wouldn’t be so happy if I were you, Highbishop,” Jonaris growled, leaning back in his chair and taking another greedy swig from his goblet.  His face broke into a sadistic half-smile.  “You have twelve hours to organise a feast fit for a goddess!”     

 

 

The trickle of sweat that meandered across the Doctor’s forehead and made its way down his cheek was the only movement within the calm of the Infirmary, as Time Lord and Trakenite remained telepathically joined, their mental efforts outwardly imperceptible.  Over the course of the last hour the Doctor had successfully managed to help Nyssa to strengthen her mental defences, patiently guiding her through the techniques required to fortify her mind against the unwelcome intrusions she was experiencing.  As they sat together in the landscape of her subconscious, the emotional maelstrom surrounding them gradually subsided, dwindling in intensity until the multitude of voices receded once more into a background murmur no more intrusive than a babbling stream.  

The Doctor opened his eyes and looked at his companion as she sat across from him, and the beginnings of the smile that played across her lips was mirrored by his own as he felt overwhelming relief and gratitude wash over him.  He could feel her exhaustion too, and the tiredness that replaced tension as she finally began to relax, worn out by the ordeals of the past few hours.  

He began to gently disengage himself from his companion’s mind as she drifted off into sleep, slowly withdrawing his mental presence so as not to disturb her, whilst at the same time keen to extricate himself from Nyssa’s psyche before she entered the dreamstate, in case he involuntarily intruded upon thoughts and feelings that she would never consciously share.  

It was just as he was at the very edge of her consciousness when it happened.

Just as the Doctor removed the last tendrils of his mental presence from her mind, Nyssa began to dream.  He quickly broke contact, gasping as he opened his eyes and snatched his fingers away from her sleeping face.  As swiftly as he had moved, it was not swift enough.  

Time is not constant in dreams. It obeys no law save the whim of the subconscious, which can choose to visit past, present or future, spend an eternity on a single moment, or make a lifetime last a nanosecond.  In the split second before the Doctor released contact, Nyssa’s unconscious mind drifted and relived the events of the past few weeks, the Doctor involuntarily sharing those experiences along with her.  A burst of emotion surged through him, flooding his senses before vanishing abruptly as his fingers fell away from her.  Grief, loneliness, desolation... all reverberated though his mind like an electric current, together with a loss so complete that it ached through his being like a physical wound.

He backed away from her, falling into his chair, his hands covering his face as he fought to breathe.  Gathering himself, he wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked at his companion, now sleeping peacefully, cradled within the medical couch.  

“Oh Nyssa,” he whispered softly.  “So lonely.  So very, very alone...”

The Doctor got up slowly, ran his hands through his hair and took a deep, cleansing breath.  The feelings Nyssa had inadvertently shared with him had faded, but the memory of them echoed around his mind, stirring up his own sense of guilt and remorse in response.  He watched her intently for a few moments before burying his hands in his pockets and walking towards the exit.  As he reached the doorway, he turned back to look at his sleeping companion once more.

“I’m so sorry.”

He turned, head bowed, and left the Infirmary as Nyssa slumbered on, alone.

 


	6. Breakfast and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor discovers more about Adric's disappearance, while Suren gives Tegan a lesson in Serenite history, revealing more about the nature of the Source...

**Chapter 6 - Breakfast and Blood**

 

Brother Byrnus looked down at the sleeping boy, pondering the events to come as he watched the star-shaped badge on his chest rise and fall.  The boy turned fitfully in his sleep, muttering and growling incoherently.  

Byrnus frowned.  He had kept the faith all his life, hoping for the prophesied arrival, but now that he was here he still found it hard to believe that this boy, this ragged youth, had played such an important part in his people’s past, and was soon to become the catalyst for their future.  That knowledge and science were to be restored by an adolescent in an obvious state of mental instability seemed... _wrong_ somehow, but Byrnus knew better than to question the path to be taken.  Events so far had played out as foreseen, so why should events to come be any different?  He pushed the nagging doubt to the back of his mind as the door to the chamber creaked open, and the Father entered. 

“I have had word, Byrnus, that a feast to celebrate the Lady’s return is being organised, and will take place tonight.”  He looked towards the bed.  “You must prepare him.  This is the opportunity we were promised.  The moment of change.”

Byrnus looked at him, the unwanted doubt resurfacing in his mind.  “Are you sure, Father?  I don’t mean to question the prophecy, but I don’t see how–”

“I am _sure_ , Byrnus.  The time is now - there can be no other.  Have faith, Brother!”  The Father put a reassuring hand on Byrnus’ shoulder.  “Now I must leave.  You know how to proceed.”

Byrnus bowed his head.  “Yes, Father.”

The door closed, leaving Byrnus alone with the Boy once more.  He crouched down by the side of the bed.

“Well, young Adric.  It seems you and I have a lot to do...”

 

 

The Refectory was sparsely populated, and Suren had escorted Tegan to a secluded, unoccupied table before heading off to the automated counter to rustle up some breakfast.  He returned, armed with an overflowing tray containing a number of plates and beverages.

“Forgive me, my Lady.  I didn’t know what you would like, so I got a selection.”

“Suren, the only thing you need to be sorry about is calling me ‘my Lady’!” Tegan smiled.  “Please, call me Tegan.”

Suren smiled shyly and took his seat.  “As you wish... Tegan.”  He looked at her, uncertain, and they laughed together, then set about their breakfast.  

Tegan surveyed the options, selecting what looked like a bowl of assorted fruit and an opaque liquid that resembled milk, although slightly yellower in colour.  “So, have you always been a medic?” she asked, sniffing the liquid cautiously.

“Yes.  It was my father’s occupation, and his mother before him.  I trained with them from an early age.  It was either that or join the Order, and I have never been the most religious person.”  He looked at Tegan, suddenly realising what he had just said.  “Until now, of course!  I mean–”

Tegan laughed as he backtracked and began to apologise profusely.  “Suren - just relax.  I’m not going to bite your head off!”  He looked on, wide-eyed, as she sunk her teeth into a riverfruit.  “Cripes!” she exclaimed, “If I’d followed in _my_ father’s footsteps, I’d be a sheep farmer!” she said, laughing.

Suren looked puzzled.  “What’s a sheep?”  

Tegan rolled her eyes.  The novelty of explaining commonplace Earth creatures and objects to aliens was beginning to wear off.  “It’s just an animal that we use for meat and wool.  Milk sometimes, too.”  She held up her glass.  “Is this milk?”

Suren shook his head, but didn’t elaborate further.  “So did you have a vocation on your home planet?  Before you began to serve the Lady, I mean.”

“Well, I wanted to travel.  You know, see the world a bit.  So I joined an airline.”  Noting Suren’s puzzled expression once more Tegan pre-empted the question: “My people travel our planet in jet-propelled aircraft, and it was my job to take care of the passengers.”  She sighed, playing with her food.  “Or it would have been, if I hadn’t met the Doctor.”  Pausing thoughtfully, she took a swig of her drink, frowned at the unusual taste, and then smiled once more.  “Guess I got more than I bargained for there, I’m definitely seeing the world now - or rather, the Universe!”  She looked at her half-empty glass.  “What did you say this was again?”

“I didn’t!”  Suren smiled, before looking down at his plate.  “I’ve never been outside the Colony.  My people used to travel across the many worlds of the Union, sometimes even beyond... but we don’t venture into space anymore.  That technology has been lost to us, along with the Source.”

“The Source, right... Nyssa’s told me a bit about that.  It was built here, wasn’t it?  On Serenity?”  

Suren nodded.  

“So why can’t you just rebuild it?”

Suren poked at his food, considering his answer.  “There are many reasons, really, the main one being, well... _fear,_ I suppose.  The Source... or rather, our pride in it, and others’ desire of it, is considered by many to be the cause of the Union’s destruction.  That fear has led to all high technology being shunned, and the knowledge has been lost as a result.”  He sighed.  “But fear aside, the Source was created at at time when there was a whole Union of resources to call upon, and limitless power.  I’m afraid we simply no longer have the energy, skill or capability to undertake such a massive feat of engineering.” 

Tegan took another sip of her drink, and thought.  “Perhaps the Doctor could help with that...”  She wiped her mouth.  “Seriously Suren, what is _in_ this drink?”

Suren smiled.  “It’s a liquidised fungus that grows on top of water.  It’s very nutritious!”

The Doctor arrived just as Suren was wiping the remnants of Tegan’s drink from his face.  He looked at the Time Lord, laughing.  “Would you like some breakfast, Doctor?”

“I’d give the Pond Scum Smoothie a miss if I were you!”  Tegan grimaced, wiping her mouth with her napkin.  “Is Nyssa okay?”      

The Doctor sat down next to Tegan, his face clouded.  “She’s fine.  Sleeping peacefully.”  He picked up a fork and played with it absent-mindedly, pressing each of the tines into his finger in turn.

“Doctor, I was just saying to Suren that you might be able to offer some help if they wanted to have a go at rebuilding the Source?  I mean, from what you and Adric have told me about your trip to Traken you know a fair bit about it, don’t you?”  

The Doctor continued to examined the fork intently.  

“Didn’t you say you’d seen some plans?”

The fork clattered to the table as the Doctor stood abruptly.  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Tegan.  As a Time Lord I am forbidden to interfere.”

“ _‘Forbidden to interfere’_?!” scoffed Tegan; “Look Doc, I might not have known you for very long, but ‘interfering’ seems to be a major hobby of yours!”

A pained look crossed the Doctor’s face.  “Yes, thank you Tegan!” he snapped, before turning to look at the ceiling in an effort to regain his composure.  “The fact remains that I have meddled enough in the affairs of the Traken Union, to the cost of practically every soul within it, so I do not intend to meddle any further.  Now, I am going to look for Adric–” 

Tegan opened her mouth to interrupt but the Doctor carried on regardless:

“And I am going to do so _alone._   Tegan, please stay with Nyssa and Suren.” He turned and walked towards the exit.

“Doctor!”

He stopped, mid-stride, but did not turn around.  “And Tegan, _please_ try to stay out of trouble...”

The Time Lord strode from the Refectory, leaving Tegan momentarily speechless.  She folded her arms, a petulant look clouding her face.  

“‘Stay out of trouble’?  Well, if _that_ isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I don’t know what is...”

Suren frowned, confused.  “What has kitchenware got to do with the situation?”

The earth woman groaned, her head in her hands.

“ _Aliens!_ ”

 

 

All was still in the Infirmary, the blinking lights of the medical instruments and the gentle hum of the treatment arch above Nyssa’s peacefully slumbering form the only indications of activity in the deserted room.  Detecting the lack of movement within the ward the medicom had dimmed the ambient lighting accordingly, ensuring the optimum environment for its patient to achieve restful, healing sleep.  The various flickering display screens caused shadows to dance on the walls, and the far corners of the room were filled with darkness.

A shadow detached itself from the wall nearest to the door, and slowly crept over to a nearby terminal.  In the light of the display the shadow resolved itself to reveal a large figure in the garb of a citizen, his face concealed by a dark-coloured hood.  The figure worked at the terminal momentarily, before looking to the ceiling and waving his arm in a rapid motion.  Satisfied that the automated lighting systems had been overridden, he moved, this time with more urgency, towards Nyssa’s bed.  He stopped as he passed a tray of gleaming medical instruments, carefully selecting a couple of items before moving on to stand at the sleeping Trakenite’s bedside.  

He looked down at her for a few moments, studying her features before raising a gloved hand hesitantly towards her face. 

Nyssa stirred in her sleep, sighing and turning her head.  Her movement caused the intruder to start and take a step back.  She settled again, but he kept his distance for a moment, his resolve wavering.

Eventually, satisfied that she was once more sleeping soundly, he moved back towards her.  The figure reached forward, and, after one final hesitation, gently pulled her hair back, revealing the smooth white skin of her neck.  His other hand hefted a hypospray, which he applied to the exposed flesh just behind her ear and activated in one swift motion.  The medicom emitted a soft beep as it registered the presence of the sedative in Nyssa’s system, and the intruder checked a nearby display.  Reassured that she was completely sedated, he discarded the hypospray and retrieved the other instrument from his pocket.  A blade gleamed in the light of the display, and the intruder’s whispered voice broke the silence. 

“Forgive me, my Lady...”

 

 

The early morning sun emerged from the ornate roof of the Sanctum, bursting into the Civic Square and causing the Doctor’s elongated shadow to dance before him as he strode purposefully across the patterned flagstones.  His hands were stuffed deep into his trouser pockets, his eyes hungrily devouring the ground before him as he paced, his normally cheerful face clouded with melancholy.  

Stopping abruptly, he turned his head to one side and listened intently for a moment, before reaching into his coat pocket to remove his rolled up panama hat.  A deft flick of the wrist caused the hat to unfurl, and he turned it over in his hands, running his fingers around the brim, apparently deep in thought.  

Birdsong broke the early morning silence, welcoming the new day with chirps and whistles as the Doctor, placing his hat firmly on his head, wandered on a little further.  He moved across the deserted square, heading in the direction of the Penal Wing before stopping suddenly once more.  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.  The subtle nuances of early morning air on an alien planet was usually one of the things the Time Lord treasured most about his wandering existence, but this morning the experience felt tainted, polluted by the painful memories and emotions that Nyssa had inadvertently shared with him.  He looked to his feet, petulantly kicking at a stone in a futile effort to vent his feelings.  The pebble skittered across the square, but the Doctor’s eyes remained fixed on the ground, his frown intensifying as he stared at the patch of stone beneath his feet.  Crouching suddenly, he ran his fingers over a discoloured area of pavement.

“Have you had this analysed?”  

The Doctor studied his fingers closely, his words ringing out across the deserted square, where they were met with a resounding silence.  He sighed impatiently, and stood back up to his full height.  

“I hate to cast aspersions on your professionalism, but I have been followed by a great many people in my lifetime, and I’m sorry to say you are _not_ one of the best.”

After a few moments a sheepish young Foster stepped out from a darkened alleyway leading off from the square.  The Doctor looked in his direction, his face breaking momentarily into a disarming smile.  

“Ah, there you are, Foster...?”

“Erm... Drevus, Sir.”  He sidled over to where the Time Lord stood.  

“‘Drevus’, excellent.  Now, Foster Drevus, I wonder if you could help me.”  The Doctor held his discoloured fingertips out towards the nervous guard, who regarded them suspiciously.  “Have you had this patch of liquid analysed?”

Drevus looked at the outstretched fingers, then at the patch of ground at the Doctor’s feet.  He nodded.  “About an hour ago, Sir.  It’s blood.”

“Yes, I managed to work that out for myself, thank you.”  The Doctor sighed impatiently, looking up to the heavens. “Do you have any further details?  Antibody type?  Grouping?  Planetary origin, perhaps?”

Blushing, Drevus extracted a hand reader from his belt, tapped a few buttons and passed it to the Doctor, who quickly scanned the data in front of him.

“Hmmm... unclassifiable organelles... leucocyte readings off the scale... elements unknown to Serenite science...”  He gave the reader back to Drevus.  “All of which would suggest that this is _Alzarian_ blood.”  He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his fingers clean, a worried look crossing his face.  

Drevus looked confused.  “‘Alzarian’?”

“Adric, my companion - is from Alzarius.  He was taken last night, as we were being escorted to the Sanctum.”  The Doctor looked up at the Foster.  “I believe you’ve been investigating the matter?”

Drevus shifted uneasily on his feet, unsure of how much he should share with his erstwhile quarry, who after all had been on the verge of execution for mass murder but a few short hours ago.  Strangely, he felt no malice from the unusually attired young man in front of him, but still he hesitated.  

The Doctor allowed his face to break into a smile once more, putting his hand on the young guard’s shoulder.  “Come now, Foster Drevus.  I have just been exonerated by the Lady herself!  If I am deserving of _Her_ trust, surely I am deserving of _yours?_ ”

Drevus sighed uneasily.  “Well... I’m afraid we haven’t really got a lot to go on, Sir.  The assailant with the knife managed to evade capture, even though she was hit by a number of shots.  We can only assume she was wearing some kind of protective garment.  Both her and the Boy - your friend Adric - were lost in the melee, and events were so confused that we cannot find anyone who can identify in which direction he was taken.  We have done an extensive search of the surrounding area, but this–” he indicated the discoloured patch at the Doctor’s feet - “is the only trace of him we can find.”

The smile faded from the Time Lord’s face as he contemplated his companion’s fate.  Adric was usually more than capable of looking after himself - his years as an orphaned Outler on Alzarius had made sure of that.  But on the other hand, like any teenager he was prone to rash behaviour, as recently demonstrated on Deva Loka.  He sighed, frowning; most worrying of all, he was undoubtedly hurt to some extent.

“But why Adric?” he thought aloud.  “He was obviously specifically targeted, but for what purpose?”

Drevus looked around, scanning the empty square for signs of life.  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Sir.”

The Doctor ignored him, lost in his train of thought.  “And the real question, of course, is by _whom?_   We were already in the hands of the Fosters, on our way to the Prime Consul’s Inquisition, where we were most likely to be disposed of by the Order.”  He took his hat off once more, rolling it up and tapping it on his lips as he paced round in a circle.  “Which means...”  He stopped abruptly.  “Foster Drevus!” 

The young Foster, only inches behind him, visibly jumped.  “Sir?”

The Doctor span round on his heel.  “Ah, there you are!  Are you a believer, Foster?”

“Er... well, yes - of course, Sir!”

“Excellent!  Now, I presume belief in the Lady is widespread?  Universally held across the colony?”

Drevus frowned.  “Well, yes, I suppose so.  There are different factions, of course, but the basic tenets are the same...”

“Factions, eh?  And are any of these factions particularly concerned with - “ He paused, clearing his throat.  “‘The Herald’?  Or perhaps... _‘The Boy’?_ ”

The young Foster looked nervously around the Square once more.  The russet tones of the early morning sun had begun to fade, as the sky turned from orange to pale blue, and signs of life began to stir in the adjoining alleys and courtyards.  When he spoke, his voice carried across the Square.

“That’s really not for me to speculate, Sir.  I - I should be getting back to my duties.”

The Doctor looked over his shoulder, confused by the Foster’s sudden change in demeanour.  Drevus followed his gaze.

“The citizens are stirring, Sir.  Have you eaten this morning?”

The Doctor frowned and looked to his feet once more.  “I haven’t got time to eat.  I really must find my companion, so if you can’t help me any further, Foster Drevus, I’ll bid you good morning.”  He turned to leave, but was stopped by the Foster’s hand on his arm.

“Sir, you _really_ should eat,” he said insistently.  

The Time Lord raised his eyebrows, looking at Drevus’ earnest expression with a renewed interest.  

“The tavern next to the Botanical Gardens will be opening shortly - I can _highly_ recommend the breakfast there.”  He paused, throwing the Doctor a significant look.  “I’m sure it’s _just_ what you need.  Now, I must return to my duties.  Good day, Sir.”  With that, Drevus strode off in the direction of the Penal Wing, leaving the Doctor scratching his head.

“Well, maybe I _could_ use some breakfast after all,” he muttered, striding from the Square. 

 

 

Tegan and Suren had finished their breakfast, and on leaving the Refectory had decided to head back towards the medical suite in order to check on Nyssa’s progress.

“So, have you seen much of Serenity since your arrival?”  asked Suren.

Tegan smiled sardonically.  “Well, let’s see... so far I’ve experienced a dark, overgrown garden, a hospital waiting room and the inside of a prison cell, so no, I haven’t seen many of the sights really!”  she laughed.  Suren laughed with her, before blushing furiously.

“Perhaps then... er, maybe I... I could give you a tour at some point?  Serenity has much more beautiful and interesting places to visit, I assure you!”

Tegan smiled as they rounded the corner to the Infirmary.  “That sounds good.  It’d make a nice change anyway,” she mused, “I don’t generally get to see much of the alien planets we visit, what with all the running and screaming.... why is it so dark in here?”  

They had entered the Infirmary to find it ominously silent and gloomy. 

“Don’t worry,” Suren reassured her, “My Lady must be asleep.  The medicom is programmed to adjust the ambient lighting in accordance with the patient’s biorhythms, to provide an optimum healing environment.”

“Oh. I see.”  Tegan took a step forward, but Suren gently took her arm, holding her back.

“Careful - the motion sensors will pick up your presence, and increase the lighting - if she’s resting we don’t want to disturb her.”  He picked up a hand reader from a workstation at the edge of the room, and tapped a few keys.  “I can monitor her progress with this.”  He glanced at the screen for a moment, before turning to Tegan and smiling.  “She’s fine.  Condition: stable; bone-knitting cycle at forty-eight percent complete.” 

Tegan looked back towards her sleeping friend across the room.  “So how long before she wakes up?”

“I’d say a couple of hours, at least.”

“And she’s safe here?”  A dubious expression crossed her face.

Suren smiled.  “Tegan, she’s perfectly safe, I assure you.  I trust my medical staff implicitly, and there are Fosters posted at every entrance to this building - no-one can get in without being seen.” Suren held up the hand reader.  “And we can monitor her condition remotely with this - it will notify us should anything change.”

Tegan thought for a moment, chewing her lip, then took the young medic’s arm and steered him back towards the exit.  “Right then!  You’ve got two hours to change my first impression of this godforsaken planet of yours!”  

 

 

The Doctor had left the Civic Square in the direction indicated by Foster Drevus, but had very quickly become lost in the numerous, winding side-streets and alleyways that adjoined it.  Unperturbed, he strolled on as the city began to waken around him, passing through what appeared to be a merchant quarter, where stallholders had begun to display their goods and call out the day’s prices.  They eyed the tall, unusually dressed stranger with suspicion as he ambled by, clustering into small groups to whisper darkly in his wake.  

As he ventured further on the market blossomed into a symphony of rich colours and smells as traders piled their stalls high with a myriad of brightly-hued fruits and vegetables.  The Doctor stopped at the nearest stall, picking up a purple tree-fruit and sniffing it appreciatively.  A young woman approached carrying a box of similar-looking fruits, and he rummaged in his pockets, pulling out an assortment of coins in the hope one would be acceptable.  He found a likely looking specimen and held it up, sunlight glinting off its bronze faces.

“I do hope this is adequate, I believe it’s called a ‘knut’, but I can’t for the lives of me remember where I got it from.  Now, I wonder if you could kindly point me in the direction of...”  He took his eyes from the coin to find the box of fruit spilled on the floor in front of him, its owner nowhere to be seen. 

“Ah.  I see my fame precedes me.”  He placed the coin carefully on the stall and took a bite of the fruit, smacking his lips appreciatively as the surrounding citizens stared on in silence.  “Delicious!”  He beamed.  “Now, if someone would be so kind as to tell me the way to the Botanical Gardens, I can leave you to go about your business in peace.”

A dozen hands shot up instantly, anxiously pointing towards a street to the left. It was lined with stalls overflowing with vibrant displays of flowers, and at the far end the Doctor could see a glass-domed structure, its panels shining in the early morning sun.

“Excellent!  Much obliged!”  The Doctor doffed his hat and span on his heel, leaving the fruit stall holders to gape as he strode quickly down the street, nimbly threading his way through the flower market.  He reached the entrance to the Botanical Gardens without further incident, and stood for a moment looking up at the swinging sign of the adjacent tavern.

“‘ _The Foster’s Rest_ ’,” he breathed to himself.  The tavern looked pleasant enough, with well-tended window boxes and colourful hanging baskets adorning the exterior.  Tendrils of climbing plants weaved their way through a trellis around the door, their exotic-looking flowers giving off a delicate perfume.  He’d been in far worse places, he mused, as he rolled up his hat and stowed it inside his jacket, before stepping up to the door.  “Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon,” he said, and with that he opened the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.

Given the tavern’s clandestine recommendation the Doctor had been prepared for the usual dark and dingy interior, with disreputable characters huddled over beverages of questionable origin in shadowed corners.  He was pleasantly surprised then when he stepped into a light, airy space filled with flowers and greenery, more akin to a garden centre than a public house.  Directly in front of him was the bar, where a barrel-chested man stood polishing glasses, while a rosy-cheeked, plump woman waited on a couple of locals seated at tables to the right.  To the left was an archway, leading out into a large, glass-roofed area that seemed to link through to the Botanical Gardens next door.  Bright sunlight shone onto rough-cut tables and benches, which were interspersed with various fruit trees, bushes and ferns.  

The Doctor’s eyes turned back to the bar, to find several pairs of eyes regarding him with suspicion.  “Ah, good morning.  The breakfast here comes highly recommended... I do hope I’m not too early?”

The plump woman looked up from her conversation, walked up to the barman and gave him a playful cuff round the ear.  “Stop staring, Von!  You’re enough to kill off anyone’s appetite!”  She turned to the Doctor and smiled.  “Don’t mind them, they don’t get out much.  We’ve just started serving - if you want to take a seat in the Conservatory I’ll bring a menu right over.”

The Doctor strolled through the archway into the dappled sunlight and sat down at a secluded table sheltered by a large fruit tree.  The woman appeared with the menu as promised, and he selected a light cooked breakfast accompanied by fruit juice.  As she departed to the kitchen, he sat back and took in his surroundings.  

There were five occupants within the Conservatory besides himself: a couple held hands across a table in the centre, watched by a lone white-robed acolyte sat two tables behind, whilst at the table in the far corner two Fosters sipped their drinks in silence and tried as hard as they could not to look in the Doctor’s direction.  He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in dismay as the barmaid returned with his order.

“Thank you, this looks delicious!”  He smiled.  The barmaid laughed in response.

“I’d reserve judgement till after you’ve tried it if I were you!  I take it you’re not from around these parts?”

The Doctor sniffed at a spoonful of something unidentifiable.  “You could say that, yes.”  He looked around once more.  “I’d have expected more Fosters in here, given the name of the place?”

“Oh, _that_.  It harks back to the old role of the Fosters, back in the Keeper-Time.”  She lowered her voice, leaning closer to the Doctor whilst keeping an eye on the table in the corner.  “When they carried _spades_ instead of _guns_.  They used to come in here after their shifts at the Gardens next door.  This place did a roaring trade back then I’m told - course it’s more of a struggle now, what with the curfew and all.”  She straightened up, raising her voice once more.  “Still, mustn’t grumble - enjoy your breakfast!” 

The Doctor took a tentative mouthful of food whilst watching the barmaid’s progress back to the kitchen.  As he turned to follow her movement, he caught a glimpse of something white in his peripheral vision, and realised that someone had occupied the table behind him.  

“ _Don’t turn around_.”

The low voice was barely audible, and the Doctor guessed that the newcomer had his back to him, facing away from the Fosters over on the other side of the Conservatory.  He slowly turned back to his breakfast.

“ _Do not react to what I am saying or bring attention to our conversation in any way, or your life will be forfeit.  Drevus sent me.  Are you aware you’re being followed?_ ” 

The Doctor pushed his food around his plate, feigning nonchalance.  He looked over at the Fosters, who kept surreptitiously glancing in his direction.  Luckily a few branches of a large fern hung between them, partially blocking their view.  The Doctor hoped it would be enough to disguise the movement of his lips.

“Of course I am - I’d have to be blind not to!” he whispered.  “I presume you mean those Fosters, or are you referring to your colleague over there who followed me from the marketplace, and who is _also_ , may I add, a hopelessly incompetent stalker?”

The newcomer paused for a moment, and the Doctor guessed he was checking out the acolyte across the room.  He heard what seemed to be a muffled choking sound, which nearly caused him to turn around before he realised that it was stifled laughter.  

“ _He is not my ‘colleague’.  My name is Byrnus, and while I may publicly wear the same robes as the Order of the Lady, I can assure you that myself and my brethren in the Grey Order do not share the same devotions.”_

The Doctor picked up his menu and began to study it.  “‘Grey Order’?”

“ _We are a covert faction, a secret brotherhood within the Order.  Over the past centuries we have struggled in the shadows, toiling in devotion to what we had begun to think was a lost cause._   _But then_ you _came... and brought us the Boy_. _”_

“Adric?”  The Doctor sat bolt upright, drawing the attention of the Fosters.  He coughed, putting his napkin to his mouth.  The Fosters resumed their conversation. 

“Where is he?  Is he safe?”

“ _Rest assured, my Lord Herald, there could be no safer place in the Colony than within our care.  My brethren and I, we have waited our whole lives for this moment.  I cannot tell you what an honour it is, to be here at the culmination of our work, when we shall break free from the oppression of the Order and–”_

“Yes, yes, very good,”  the Doctor broke in impatiently - “Now you listen to me.  I don’t care what faction you’re from, what your aims are or what makes your beliefs right and everyone else’s wrong.  What I want to know is what has happened to Adric, and exactly how you are going to return him to me - _unharmed._ ”

Byrnus paused for a moment, uncertain how to proceed.  “ _I - I don’t understand, my Lord Herald.  Your hostility is unfounded, I assure you.  We are on the same side, after all.”_

 _“_ All I know is that your people have captured and hurt one of my companions,” the Doctor growled, “and from where I’m sitting that makes you the _enemy_.  And if you know anything about me at all, you’ll know that is a _very_ dangerous position to be in.  Now for the last time, _where is he?_ ”

“ _There... there is a feast planned for tonight, in honour of the Lady.  He will be returned to you then, you have my word.”_ Byrnus paused, taking a hefty swig of his drink with a shaking hand.  “ _There was no malice in our intentions, my Lord, quite the opposite - the Boy was only taken to protect him from the Inquisition.”_

“Ah - I take it I’m dispensable then?”

 _“No, My Lord!”_ Byrnus hissed insistently.  “ _Quite the contrary.”_

“Well, that’s strange.  Because if my memory serves me correctly I was nanoseconds from execution a few short hours ago!”

Byrnus sighed.  “ _Not so, my Lord.  Regrettably we could not take you both from the melee in the Square, you can understand why that would have been impossible.  But look under the lapel of your coat.”_

Checking he was not being monitored too closely, the Doctor discreetly checked his clothing as directed.  His fingers instantly closed around a small round object, which he carefully detached and hid behind his menu.  It was a thin, circular disc of metal, no more than a centimetre across.  He studied it carefully.

“Hmm.  Some sort of homing device?

_“No, Lord Herald... much more than that.  It is a transmat dot.  Our agent at the Inquisition was poised to beam you away to a safe location, but then... shall we say ‘events’ took over, and rendered its use unnecessary.”_

The Doctor viewed the device with suspicion.  “Let me see the control,” he muttered, sighing.  

Byrnus was momentarily silent, then the Doctor felt something bump against his left foot.  He made a play of knocking his fork on to the floor, and diving under the table he managed to recover both the errant cutlery and what turned out to be a small, battered-looking silver box.  The Doctor frowned, turning the device over in his hands behind the cover of the menu, before shaking his head and slipping both the transmat dot and the control box into his coat pocket.

“Thank you, Brother Byrnus,” he breathed.

 _“My Lord Herald,”_ Byrnus spluttered, _“truly no thanks are necessary.  It is our sacred duty–”_

“No, Byrnus.  I mean thank you for _not_ irretrievably scrambling my atoms to the wind with that poor excuse for technology!” the Doctor hissed, rubbing his face in his hands.  “Rassilon’s beard!” he breathed to himself, “I’d have been better off taking my chances with the axe!”  He looked over to the Fosters in the corner, relieved to see them occupied with chatting to the barmaid, before speaking again.

“Brother Byrnus.  _Promise_ me you will not use a device of this type in future, on anything more sentient than an amoeba!”  

Byrnus drew breath to answer, but the Doctor cut him off before he could begin.

“Now, I suppose for the time being I’ll have to trust you about Adric.  However, if you fail to return him tonight, or I find that you’ve harmed him any further, your ‘Herald’ will NOT be happy,” he growled.  “Good day, Brother Byrnus.”  The Time Lord pushed his plate across the table and abruptly stood up, threw a few coins down and walked from the inn, leaving his stalkers scrambling in his wake.

 

 

Tegan and Suren had spent an enjoyable couple of hours in each other’s company, as the young medic guided her around the city and showed her the various sights, from the exotic fragrances and hues of the markets and Botannical Gardens to the opulent luxury of the Procardinal’s Palace.  As they walked they had chatted a great deal, and found that they had much in common beyond their similar ages.  Tegan had warmed to his innocent enthusiasm and often mischievous sense of humour, whilst Suren admired her no-nonsense honesty and feisty independence.  

They walked on through a small agricultural area where workers toiled in the late morning sun.  The fields were bordered by tiny, run down houses.

“Do those homes belong to the farmhands?” Tegan asked.  

Suren nodded.  “It’s a collective.  The farmers own the houses, and the fields.  They work together to provide for their families, and then any extra produce is sold at the market.”  

Tegan frowned.  “They don’t seem to spend much of their profit on their houses.  Most of them look about ready to fall down around their ears.”

“Well, there’s probably not much left, after the Duty.”

“‘Duty’?  What, you mean like a tax?”

The medic nodded.  “A proportion of their income goes to the Order.  Everyone on Serenity pays the Duty - it pleases the people to see the Lady honoured in a suitable fashion.”

“Really?”  Tegan raised an eyebrow.  “That’s funny, those workers didn’t _look_ particularly ‘pleased’...”  She silently wondered how Nyssa would feel when she found out how hard the Serenite masses worked to fund the luxury enjoyed by her ministers.

They reached the top of a low incline, and Suren pointed further along the road, to an area where the greenery of the fields gave way to a built up, industrial zone.  Dust blew around grey, concrete walls, and tall metal chimneys, streaked with rust, permeated the sky.

“This is the Industrial District.  It’s disused now, of course, but still an important part of our history.”  His tone was reverent, one which Tegan would have associated more with a temple, or an ancient burial site.  He indicated a large structure to the left of the area, where low-lying buildings surrounded a massive central construction: a vast circular metal framework encircled a wide crater, rising upwards to culminate in eight huge, evenly-spaced arms that stretched towards the heavens.  “This is where the Source was born.” 

Tegan regarded the complex with wonder.  It reminded her of a number of structures she’d seen back home, a cross between an Olympic stadium and a huge radio telescope she remembered from a documentary, albeit on a much larger scale.  

“Wow - that’s pretty impressive!” Tegan whistled, as they walked towards one of the nearest buildings.  The sheer size of the construction became more and more apparent as they continued on; she felt dwarfed by its magnitude as she craned her neck upwards to take it all in.  “We have nothing like this on Earth.  Nothing this big, anyway!”

“Well,” he shrugged, “invention is driven by necessity.  Your people probably had no need for an undertaking of this size.”

“And yours did?”

“Absolutely.”  Suren nodded.  “Serenity was colonised by the Trakenites millennia ago, in the Pre-Primeval time, before the Source existed.  Unlike Traken, Serenity had a harsh, unforgiving climate, and the first colonists struggled to survive.  They only prevailed thanks to the help of the indigenous people.”

“Hang on!” interrupted Tegan, smiling - “I think I’ve heard this story before.  Does it involve turkey, pumpkin pie and the eventual slaughter of the friendly natives?”

Suren frowned.  “Slaughter?  Not at all!”  He smiled - “Quite the opposite in fact!   Our species intermarried, and both the increase in numbers and favourable genetic traits passed on by the indigenous population ensured the survival of the colony.  As time went on they became renowned scientists, and the harshness of the climate drove them on to master their environment via the creation of the Source.  And this is where it was born.”

They approached a nearby building, and Suren pulled open a grimy metal door, its hinges shrieking in protest.  The air inside smelt musty, like it hadn’t been disturbed for decades.  Suren motioned for her to enter, and Tegan walked through, coughing slightly as the newly disturbed dust irritated the back of her throat.  Suren followed, and the door banged shut behind them, causing Tegan to jump.

“It’s dark in here.”  She shivered, rubbing her arms.  “And cold.”

“Hold on,” said Suren, moving over to a panel on a nearby wall.  After a few moments the overhead lights began to flicker, half of them bursting into life whilst the rest remained in darkness.  It created an odd effect, with isolated pools of illumination dotted across the spacious room, highlighting what looked like several rows of desks swathed in white dust sheets.

“Oh that’s _much_ better!” laughed Tegan, her arms folded across her chest. “Not spooky at all!  

Suren pulled a sheet from the nearest workstation, and the dust cleared to reveal a complex and intricate control panel.  Tegan ran her fingers along the edge, taking in the unfathomable array of readouts and controls.  

“It looks as good as new,” she said, slightly surprised.  “Is all this still operational?”

The medic nodded, examining one of the panels intently.  “I think so.  There used to be a historical society dedicated to its maintenance, but as the Order became more powerful they were forced underground.  As far as I know though, everything is still in working order... although we don’t have nearly enough resource to be able to operate it.  Or a Keeper to control it, come to that.”

They wandered through the vast, echoing control room, Suren pointing out various different aspects of the technology to his companion, who was trying her best to appear interested despite not having a clue about the vast majority of what the medic was saying.  She ventured a question, anxious not to appear stupid in front of her alien host.

“So from what you said before, even if you could somehow find the power to get all this running again, it would be useless without a Keeper, right?”

Suren thought for a moment.  “Not ‘useless’, no... just more ‘unpredictable’, I suppose.  Back in the Primeval time, the Source existed by itself for a long time before it came under the control of the first Keeper.”  

“But the effects are better _with_ a Keeper?”

“Yes.  With a Keeper the power can be directed for the benefit of all.”

“Can’t anyone be Keeper?”

“Unfortunately not,” Suren said, shaking his head.  “The ability to commune with the Source was a genetic abnormality, a throwback to the telepathic skills our people once possessed.  Only those with a certain aberration in their genetic coding had the potential to become Keeper, and they were all Trakenite.”

A nagging thought prickled the back of Tegan’s mind, as the implications of Suren’s words began to link together in her subconscious.  “But the Serenites originally came from Traken, didn’t they?  So why is there no-one on Serenity with this abnormality?”

“Because only _half_ of our genetic heritage is Trakenite.”

“Oh, right...”  Tegan walked down the next line of workstations, absent-mindedly drawing patterns in the dust.  There was something she was missing here, something niggling away at her, causing a feeling of unease to rise in her stomach.  “You mixed with the native Serenites.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that, Tegan.”  The medic sat down on a rusted chair nearby.  “There were only very few people with the abnormality - the ‘Source Marker’, as it came to be known - to begin with.  After the first Keeper joined with the Source, and the genetic precondition became apparent, those with the strongest manifestation were sought out, and they became the beginnings of the Trakenite aristocracy, from whom Consuls and therefore new Keepers were chosen.  They were required to keep their blood pure, to preserve their ability and safeguard future generations.  Hence they were few in number, and all were lost in the Darkness.  Or so we thought.”

“Rabbits!”  Tegan jumped up suddenly.  ”The Source Marker!”

“My Lady - sorry - Tegan?”

The Australian woman slapped a hand to her forehead in frustration, before starting quickly towards the exit.  “Tegan Jovanka, how could you be so stupid?”  

Suren hurried after her.  “What is it?”

“Source Marker!” she shouted over her shoulder.  “Back in the Sanctum - you said Nyssa had it!”

“Yes!” panted the medic - “It’s how I knew she was who she said she was!”

“And it was in that report - the one you showed to Varden and Jonaris!”  Tegan crashed through the shrieking metal doors.

“Yes... but I still don’t see why we have to–”

Tegan stopped in her tracks, turning abruptly towards him.  “From what you’ve just told me, Nyssa’s DNA makes her just about the most valuable person on this planet.  Now the two most _powerful_ people on this planet are aware of that.”  She turned, calling back over her shoulder as she broke into a run.

“And we’ve just left her _alone_!”

 

 

The bustle of the market descended into whispering and stifled gasps as the imposing figure of the Herald cut a swathe through the crowded streets, sending citizens scrambling for cover, before huddling together once more to mutter anxiously in his wake.  The Doctor barely noticed them.  He strode steadily through the throng, his hands deep in his trouser pockets, a sullen expression marring his youthful face.

The clandestine meeting in the inn had done nothing to improve the Time Lord’s mood, and as he headed in the direction of the Civic Square the depression that had been wakened by the revelation of his role in Serenity’s history, and nurtured by his telepathic contact with Nyssa, threatened to take hold once more.  Daybreak had slipped into late morning, and the city bustled with life.  As the Doctor turned into the Square he was faced with a multitude of people.  His sudden appearance created a ripple effect akin to a pebble dropping into a pond, as those nearest to him instantly and simultaneously scattered at his approach, creating a wave of apprehension spreading outwards across the plaza.  

The effect plunged the Doctor deep into thought once more.  The pace of his current existence meant he never really found the time to sit and reflect on his lives - and his impact on the lives of others - to any meaningful extent.  Maybe, he mused, that was more down to wilful procrastination rather than circumstance, but now he found he couldn’t get the number ‘forty-five billion’ out of his mind.  So many lives, extinguished in the space of a double heartbeat.  Countless futures wiped out, an ocean of potential obliterated, all through his inescapable failure.  Such numbers were impossible for the human mind to comprehend, but unfortunately the Gallifreyan brain was more than capable of grasping the enormities involved.

He wandered on through the Square, ambling through spaces created by his new-found pestilential presence, and contemplating on Time Lord policy and his own impact on the universe at large.  His condemnation of Gallifreyan non-interference was something he had held to steadfastly in his years as an exile; indeed he had often rejoiced in his innumerable efforts to alter events for the common good.  But if he weighed it all up, what would be the result?  Would all the good he had done, all the lives he had saved, outweigh those he had lost, and let slip through his fingers?  And if he could somehow ‘balance the books’, and show that he’d saved as many as had fallen, what then?  Would his lives literally have amounted to nothing? 

Sighing, he turned abruptly in the direction of the Infirmary, only to find his way blocked.  A small child stood before him, looking up at the Time Lord in innocent confusion.  The Doctor stuffed his hands into his pockets, and looked at the boy expectantly.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”  The boy looked him up and down, his nose wrinkling to match the furrows on his brow.  “You’re not a monster.”

The Doctor crouched to the child’s level, removing his hat and rolling it in his hands.  “I’m glad you think so.  But I’m not sure everyone else around here would agree with you,” he whispered.

“That’s because you’re going to make it dark.  They don’t like the dark.  But I’m not scared.”

“You’re not?” asked the Doctor.  He leaned closer, as if to share a secret.  “I can be quite scary sometimes, you know.”  The boy thought for a moment, scratching his nose.

“But in all the stories, good always wins in the end.  And the Lady is good.  She’ll save everyone.”  He smiled.  “Maybe even you.”

“DOCTOR!”

The conversation was halted abruptly as the Doctor looked up to see Tegan running across the square towards him, closely followed by a red-faced Suren.  He stood, turning in their direction.  A nervous-looking Serenite woman took the opportunity to dash forward, anxiously grabbing the boy before quickly retreating to the safety of the gathering crowd. 

“Tegan!  Are you alright?  Where’s Nyssa?”

“Still in the Infirmary,”  Tegan panted, struggling to catch her breath.  “We–”

“You left her _alone?_ ” the Doctor exclaimed - “Tegan, I told you to stay with her!  How could you be so irresponsible?”

The Australian woman grabbed the Doctor’s arm, heading off the tirade and steering him in the direction of the Infirmary.  “Save the lecture for later Doctor, we’ve got to get back to her _now_ \- she could be in danger!”

The Doctor hung back, surprised.  “What?  Who–”

“Come _on_ Doctor!”  Tegan interrupted, dragging the puzzled Time Lord forwards.  “I’ll explain on the way!”

 

 

Leaves twirled in a myriad of dances in the spacious gardens of the Procardinal’s palace: stirred into motion by the breeze, then kicked up by the feet of Jonaris as he paced the well-tended walkways, and further agitated by the hot breath of a hooded citizen as he watched and waited, concealed from view in a nearby thicket.  He shrank further into cover as a white-robed acolyte ran past, then carefully observed as the Procardinal scribbled his signature on the proffered document and testily dismissed his underling.  The cowled figure waited patiently for a few minutes more as his quarry paced alone, seemingly lost in his thoughts.  Checking once more to make sure the cleric would remain undisturbed he made his move, quickly traversing the space between them with the speed and stealth of a trained assassin.  

He was almost upon him when Jonaris turned slightly, noticed the movement in his peripheral vision and span to face the intruder.

“You’re late,” the Procardinal growled.  

The intruder stopped, and bent into a low deferential bow.  

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

“My apologies, my Lord Procardinal.”  The figure straightened.  “With all the preparations for the feast tonight, it was difficult to slip in here unseen.”

“I don’t want your excuses.  Do you have it?”

The figure slipped a hand into his garment, pulled out a small glass tube, and handed it to the Procardinal.  Jonaris held the tube up to the light and examined the contents.  His face broke into a satisfied smile.

“You have done well.  I take it you weren’t seen?”

“Of course not, my Lord.”

“Excellent.”  Jonaris waved a hand dismissively, his gleaming eyes still on the tube.  “You may go.  I’ll call you again if I need you.”

The figure bowed and turned to go, then hesitated.  “My Lord–”  He stopped, faltering.

The Procardinal tore his eyes from the contents of the tube, a look of irritation crossing his face.  “What?  Spit it out man, I haven’t got all day!”

The figure’s face was lost in the shadows of his hood, but his uncertainty was evident in his voice.  “All this - I mean, well... it just doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

Jonaris flushed, his eyes narrowing.  “This is _the Lady’s_ business,” he growled, “and as such it is for _me_ to define what is right and what is wrong, not _you_.”

The hooded figure bowed his head.  “I don’t presume to question your authority, my Lord, far from it.  But... if it is the Lady’s business... why did you require me to sedate her?”  

Jonaris paused, visibly fighting to control his temper.  “You presume too much, my friend.”  Gathering himself, he forced a condescending smile.  “Of course I understand your dilemma... it must be hard for a - _lay person_ \- to fully comprehend.  But please, I must ask you leave matters of religion to those who understand them best.”

“Yes, my Lord Procardinal.”  The figure bowed curtly, then turned to leave.

The cleric smiled as the hooded figure began to walk away. “Thank you for your continued dedication to the cause... Proctor Morovan.”

The figure paused momentarily, before disappearing into the greenery once more.

 


	7. Playing Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Serenity prepares a feast fit for a goddess, not all parties are comfortable with the parts they must play...

**Chapter 7 - Playing Parts**

 

The doors at the entrance to the Infirmary crashed open, startling the attending Fosters and sending them urgently leaping to attention.  Suren approached the senior Foster as the Doctor followed him in, Tegan struggling to keep pace with his lengthy stride.

“So, did you manage to find Adric?” she panted, jogging at his elbow.

“No,” said the Doctor distractedly, watching as Suren spoke quietly to the guard.  “But I know who has him.”

“Who?  Is he safe?”

“They gave me their word.  He’s going to be returned to us at the feast tonight.”

Tegan frowned.  “But if these people are the ones who kidnapped him in the first place, how do you know you can trust them?”

The Doctor sighed, turning to his human companion.  “I _don’t_ , Tegan.  But I’m afraid at the moment we don’t have much choice in the matter.”  He looked back to Suren as the medic returned from his conversation with the guard.

“I’ve checked the duty log and spoken with the Fosters, and according to them no-one has entered or left the medical bay since our departure this morning.”  He smiled.  “It looks like we were worried over nothing.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows.  “Yes, well, _I’ll_ be the judge of that, thank you...”  He moved past Suren in the direction of the medical bay, Tegan at his heels.  Keeping his voice low, he leaned over to her:  “Fosters or not, I’m getting the impression there are several parties at work here, and most likely the Fosters - or whomever they answer to - are part of that equation.”  He gave her a significant look.  “We should be careful who we trust from now on.”  

Tegan nodded solemnly, and together they walked through the doors, followed by Suren.

The room was still darkened, and remained so despite their entrance.  Suren walked forward, waving a hand in the air.  

“That’s odd... the lights are programmed to come on when the sensors pick up movement.”  He moved to the nearest terminal and tapped a few controls.  “It looks like the environmental controls have been adjusted, but who...?”

“Is Nyssa okay?  Ouch!”  Tegan moved towards the faint outline of her friend’s slumbering form, only to clumsily walk into a freestanding console as she shuffled through the darkness.  

“Hold on, I’ll try and bring up the lights.”  Suren worked at the terminal for a few moments longer, until the darkness slowly began to retreat into the far corners of the room as the ambient lighting gradually brightened.  

Tegan, rubbing her shin, hobbled to join the Doctor at Nyssa’s bedside as Suren switched monitors and began to assess his patient’s condition.

“She seems alright, still sleeping like a baby,”  Tegan whispered, then moved to join Suren at the medicom.  “Does everything check out OK?”

The medic paused, frowning.  “Her condition is fine,” he muttered, “the bone cycle is complete and everything seems to have healed satisfactorily.  It’s just...”

“What?”  The Doctor looked up, concerned.

“She’s sleeping a little _too_ peacefully,” Suren finished.  His fingers moved swiftly over the keypad, accessing the medical log.  “Hold on.... there!”  He pointed to a log entry half way down the screen.  Tegan tried to decipher the string of technical information unsuccessfully.  “I was never any good at chemistry.  What does it mean?”  

The Doctor joined her at the terminal, put on his spectacles and frowned at the display.  “Hmmm... if I’m reading this correctly, the medicom has detected a small amount of sedative in Nyssa’s bloodstream.  Enough to render her unconscious for a short while, but not enough to harm her in any way.  The effects have all but worn off now, so she should wake with no ill effects.”

“Sedative?” questioned Tegan - “Like an anaesthetic?  But who would have done that - and _why_?”

Suren shook his head.  “I can’t tell - it seems to be an incomplete entry.”

  “An ‘incomplete entry’?”  Tegan looked at him in confusion.  “So you mean someone’s erased some information?”  

“There’s no way to tell.”  Suren sighed, thumping the side of the unit in frustration.  “This equipment is hundreds of years old, and not always entirely reliable.  It could just be that the medicom administered the sedative itself, perhaps in response to my Lady moving in her sleep and jeopardising the bone-knitting procedure.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed.  “Or someone could have given it to her - the same person who turned the lights off perhaps?”

“Maybe.”  Suren frowned.  “But equally there could have been an electrical fault causing the lights to short, and maybe that disturbed my Lady enough for the medicom to sedate her.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “Either way, there’s no harm done, she’s absolutely fine.”

Tegan folded her arms, unconvinced.  “All the same, I don’t like it.”  She looked down at her sleeping friend.  “I’m sorry, Doctor - I should never have left her here on her own.”

The Doctor patted her arm awkwardly.  “Not to worry Tegan - as Suren said, there’s no harm done.”

Suren was still studying the readout.  “You know, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced it’s a system error,” he said decisively.  “It’s the only rational explanation.”

“In my experience, there’s no such thing as a ‘rational explanation’,” the Doctor replied.  

Tegan rolled her eyes.  “In _my_ experience, there’s no such thing as ‘reliable technology’, either!”  

 

 

The marble concourse of the Civic Hall was buzzing with activity as Prime Consul Varden strolled through into the large banqueting chamber, slowly working his way through the numerous servants, citizens and Order members as they bustled back and forth, laden with varying items of food, drink and decoration.  

Varden cast his eyes around the large room with interest.  He had seldom seen the Hall trimmed with such sumptuosity: the polished walls had been hung with rich tapestries, and he noted with surprise that there were a number he did not recognise - obviously, he assumed, from the Procardinal’s private collection.  Long trestle tables had been aligned with the walls of the room, and servants were covering them with white silk cloth and placing intricate arrangements of orchids along their length, their delicate fragrances perfuming the air.  A large space had been left in the centre of the room - presumably for dancing - but currently occupied by a busy crowd of people being nervously directed by Highbishop Fenravick.  The Prime Consul smiled and approached the throng.

“Highbishop!” he called, as several acolytes were dispatched to carry out their respective duties, thinning the crowd temporarily.  “How are the preparations going?”

Fenravick’s head snapped up from his notes as he became aware of the Prime Consul’s presence, his eyes widening in nervous surprise.  “Prime Consul!” he gulped - “I - I wasn’t aware you were honouring us with a visit!”

“Relax, Fenravick.  I’m not here in any official capacity.  Just interested to see how one goes about welcoming a deity, that’s all.”  He stood with his hands behind his back, taking in the activity around him.  “You seem to have everything under control,” he said, a hint of surprise escaping into his voice.

The Highbishop sighed exhaustedly, blinking the sweat from his eyes as he consulted his itinerary.  “Well, mostly, yes... but if you can offer any help that would be–”

“My dear Fenravick,” Varden cut in, a wry grin on his face - “This is a _religious_ event, and I’m sure the Procardinal wouldn’t thank me for interfering.”  He looked round once more, and picked up a particularly fine goblet from the table next to him, studying the gilded detail with interest.  “I must say you’re doing an excellent job - everything is looking particularly lavish.  In fact I’m quite relieved this is all coming out of the _Order’s_ budget, and not the Civic coffers...”  He looked at the clergyman, raising an eyebrow.  Fenravick squirmed under his gaze.  “There... there _is_ no budget, Prime Consul,” he muttered.  

Varden feigned surprise.  “No budget?  But how can that be?”  The clergyman visibly shrank at his words while Varden shook his head in mock astonishment.  “I must admit I am confused, Highbishop.  Do you mean to tell me that the celebration of the coming of the Lady - which has been prophesied by the Order for nigh on three centuries - is finally here, and the Order hasn’t saved a _single credit_ to fund it?”

“I - we... I mean...” Fenravick stammered, before taking a deep breath.  “We are commandeering services and provisions from the people, Prime Consul.  They are more than happy to provide all they can to please the Lady.”

“I’m sure they are, Fenravick.”  Varden smiled.  He turned to leave, then paused, looking back over his shoulder at the flustered clergyman.  “I just hope the Lady is grateful for her meal, given that her faithful subjects are going without in order to provide it.”  Allowing himself a final, satisfied smile, he strolled towards the exit.

 

 

“Nyssa?  Nyssa, come on - it’s time to wake up...”  Tegan shook the sleeping girl’s shoulder gently, and was relieved to see her eyelids eventually flutter open.  

The Trakenite yawned and stretched, before opening her eyes fully to see the concerned faces of Tegan, Suren and the Doctor looking down at her as she lay cradled in the medical couch.

“How do you feel, Nyssa?” asked the Doctor, looking at her over his half-moon spectacles as Suren studied the medicom next to him.

Nyssa frowned, blinking the sleep from her eyes.  “Fine, I think.  A little tired,” she said, groggily.  She rubbed the back of her neck, looking at them in confusion.  “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, my Lady.”  Suren smiled, looking up from his readouts.  “The bone-knitting cycle is complete, and your injuries are fully healed.  Aside from some residual bruising, you are in perfect health.”

Nyssa flexed her arm experimentally, then tentatively felt down her side, running her fingers over her ribs.  The skin was still fairly tender and bruised; beneath that she noted a slightly warm, tingling sensation, but surprisingly no pain.  She took a deep breath, and was relieved to find she could breathe normally once more.

“Thank you, Suren,” she said, with a weary smile.  “I am greatly indebted to you.”  

Suren flushed, then bowed deeply.  “It was my honour to serve you, my Lady.”  Returning to his full height, he noticed one of his medical staff signalling silently from the doorway.  “Forgive me, my Lady, I am needed elsewhere.”  He bowed once more and hurried over to the door.

The Doctor watched him go, then moved to Nyssa’s bedside, studying her intently.  “And how is your head, Nyssa?”

The young girl closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her head and silently listening for the unwelcome intrusions that had troubled her previously.  She furrowed her brow in concentration - they were still there, but peripheral... off in the distance and safely contained by the mental barriers she and the Doctor had constructed.  She smiled, opening her eyes once more.  “It’s fine, Doctor.  Much better, thank you.”

“What’s the matter with her head?” asked Tegan, confused.

The Time Lord turned to her abruptly.  “Nothing for you to worry about, Tegan.  In fact, now that Nyssa here is on the mend, the person we should be worrying about is _Adric_.”

Nyssa looked concerned.  “Adric?  What’s wrong?  Where is he?”

“That’s what we’d _all_ like to know,” said Tegan.

The Trakenite sat up in alarm.  “You mean he’s missing?”

The Doctor started to pace, his hands in his pockets, and his brow furrowed.  “Well, not _technically_ , no...”

“‘Technically’?”  

“The Doctor’s tried to track him down,” explained Tegan, “he knows who’s got him, but not where.  Apparently he’s going to be returned at the feast tonight.”  She looked at the Doctor - “In _one piece_ , hopefully...?”

“Yes, thank you Tegan!” the Doctor sighed, turning back to Nyssa.  “He’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.  From what I could glean his captors seem to hold him in some form of reverence...”  He tailed off, lost in thought.

Nyssa sat back, only partially reassured, until something Tegan had mentioned struck her.  “What’s this about a feast tonight?”

“Ah, yes.  Well, it seems events have moved on somewhat while you were sleeping - apparently the Serenites are organising a feast tonight,” the Doctor raised his eyebrows significantly - “in _your_ honour, my Lady.”  

Nyssa appeared less than thrilled at the prospect.  She looked towards Suren, still conferring with his colleague across the room, and said in a hushed voice: “I’m not sure I can go through with this, Doctor.  I’m still undecided about the whole situation, and if I go to this feast as ‘the Lady’ tonight, I think that will set me on a path that I’m not sure I want to travel.”

The Doctor sighed.  “I appreciate that Nyssa, but I’m afraid we don’t have much choice at the moment.  The only way we can ensure Adric’s safety is by attending the feast, and if we were to reveal the truth now that would put everyone in danger.”  He shrugged, resignedly - “I’m afraid we’re all going to have to play our respective ‘parts’ for a while longer.”

“Ahem!” Tegan coughed conspicuously; the Doctor turned to see Suren making his way back across the medical bay, flanked by two white-robed members of the Order.  The Doctor looked back to Nyssa, raising his eyebrows questioningly.  She hesitated momentarily, before nodding her head in silent assent.  

The three Serenites approached, each dropping into a deep bow as they neared Nyssa’s bedside.  The two acolytes remained prostrate as Suren returned to his full height. 

“My Lady,” said the medic - “I have a message from Procardinal Jonaris.  I am instructed to extend a formal invitation to yourself, my Lord Herald, and of course your lovely Handmaiden...” he glanced at Tegan, blushing, “to a Grand Feast tonight, in honour of your divine presence.”

Nyssa took a deep breath, composing herself before answering.  She smiled, regally.  “Thank you, we would be delighted to attend.  Although…”  She looked down at the flimsy sheet covering her, and then at her unusually-attired companions - “I’m afraid we may be a little underdressed?”

A nervous voice came from inside the hood of one of the prostate acolytes: “Forgive me, my Lady, but that is all taken care of.  My Lord Procardinal has provided quarters at the Palace, where your every need shall be taken care of.  We are to escort you there immediately.”

“Right then.”  Tegan stepped forward with an air of authority.  “If you gentlemen could give us some privacy for a moment...?”  The acolytes looked up at her questioningly, and Tegan raised her eyebrows.  “Unless of course you want the Lady to walk through the streets clothed in a _bedsheet?_ ”

“Er - yes... yes of course.  We will wait outside, my Lady.”  Suren backed towards the door, hurriedly followed by the two red-faced acolytes, their eyes fixed firmly to the floor.  

Tegan ushered them out of the medical bay, turning back to the Doctor and Nyssa as the doors closed.  Her baleful glare fixed upon the Doctor.     

“And you, Doctor!”  She hiked her thumb - “Out!”

For once the Doctor didn’t bother to argue, but instead turned to Nyssa.  “I will see you both at the feast.  Once we have Adric back safe and sound, then we can consider our options around your future here.  Until then,” he walked over to Tegan, giving her a meaningful look, “ _Stay together._ ”  And with that, he stalked out of the door.   

Tegan looked over to her Trakenite friend.  Nyssa was frowning, deep in thought.  The Australian woman walked over to her, and took her hand.

“You sure you’re OK with this?”

Nyssa sighed despondently.  “It doesn’t seem like I have much choice.”

Tegan thought for a moment, and then grinned.  “Well, look on the bright side - we haven’t been to a party since nineteen twenty-five!”

 

 

“My Lord Herald?  Excuse me... Doctor?”

The Doctor was halfway across the Civic Square before Suren caught up with him.  He turned impatiently, looking at the medic for several seconds before registering who he was.

“Ah, Suren.  Sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment there.”  He smiled broadly.  “How can I help you?”

Suren coughed nervously.  “I, er...”  He nodded in the direction the Doctor was traveling.  “Are we going somewhere?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular.” said the Doctor dismissively.  “Just a couple of errands to run before tonight.  I thought I might spruce myself up a bit...”  He looked down at his celery, which was wilting considerably on his lapel, and frowned.  “Ah, water the greenery, so to speak... so I’ll see you at the feast?”  The Doctor turned and strode on, not waiting for an answer.  

Suren stared speechlessly after him for a moment, before following in his wake.  “Doctor?”  The Serenite had to jog to keep up with the rapidly departing Time Lord.  “Doctor!  Wait a moment!”

The Doctor stopped abruptly once more - nearly causing Suren to collide into him - and thrust his hands into his pockets.  He sighed impatiently, before turning to face his pursuer.   “Yes?”

“Well, under the terms of your, er... ‘freedom’, I am somewhat responsible for your actions.” 

“Absolutely right Suren!”  The Doctor beamed, punctuating the air with his finger.  “And you can rest assured that I will take that responsibility seriously.”  He turned to leave once more.  “See you later!”

“ _Doctor!_ ”  Suren caught the Time Lord’s arm, spinning him round.  

The Doctor looked down at his arm in surprise, then at Suren, who retracted his hand as if his fingers had been burnt.

“I’m sorry, my Lord Herald, but I must insist on coming with you.  _My_ life is at stake here, too.”

The Doctor considered the young physician for a moment, then turned on his heel and began to stride off once more.  He had taken a number of paces before he hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder in puzzlement.

“Well, come on then, what are you waiting for?”

 

 

Torchlight flickered in Adric’s vision as he sat upright on his pallet.  He swayed slightly, his pallid face shining against a backdrop of dancing shadows.  Blinking stinging sweat from his eyes, he tried to focus on the flame as it spat and burned across the darkened room, but the more he stared, the more his head span.  He screwed his eyes up tight, shaking his head and trying to collect himself, but coherent thought seemed to drift elusively out of his reach, dancing tantalisingly on the periphery of his consciousness, whilst waves of base, primeval anger washed over him, threatening to overcome him and send him roaring over the edge into oblivion.

He looked down at his hands.  They were clenched tightly into fists, his curled fingers almost bloodless.  Desperate not to lose himself, he fought to open them, his arms shaking with the effort.  He took a deep breath, focussed on his trembling palms, and tried to form some semblance of a logical thought.  

His name... what was his name?  

He searched his mind for the syllables he must have heard uttered from the moment he was born but try as he might his thoughts whirled by in an incomprehensible, seemingly alien pattern, and he just couldn’t grasp it.  A low growl escaped him as his frustration boiled over into anger, and he raised his fists, tightly clenched once more, and covered his eyes.

“Adric.”

Adric’s eyes snapped open.  A face swam before him, looming eerily out of the greyness.  He reached out, and the visage before him seemed to steady slightly as he felt someone take his hand.

“Adric - can you hear me?”  

Recognition sparked somewhere deep in his consciousness.  That was it!  Adric breathed heavily in excitement as his mind clung on to those two precious syllables like a drowning man to a life raft.  

Adric.  Ad-ric.  My name is _Adric..._

 

 

“But... _how?!_ ”

Suren’s voice drifted from the TARDIS interior into the console room, where the Doctor stood tinkering with a small metal box, several components of which were strewn across the control panel in front of him.

“Hmm?”

The Serenite’s head popped back through the door, his face a picture of disbelief.  “How is all this possible?”

The Doctor looked up at Suren, but before he could answer his attention was drawn by a melodic chime emitted by the time machine’s console.  He checked a nearby monitor, frowning intently.

“How indeed... that _really_ is the question...”

“You mean you don’t have an understanding of how your own craft works?”

“What?  Well of course I have!” the Time Lord retorted, glaring at Suren over his half-moon spectacles.  “What I don’t have at this moment is time to explain dimensional transcendentalism to the uninitiated _yet again_ , whilst there are much more interesting quandaries to investigate!”  He flicked a switch on the device he was holding, only for it to emit an unpromising fizzing noise and start to smoke.  The Doctor hurriedly shut it off, before pulling out a smouldering component and throwing it over his shoulder.  

“Such as?”  Suren stepped over to the console, his curiosity piqued.

“Such as,” replied the Doctor, indicating the monitor across the console, “Why, on a planet that professes to have shunned high technology, is there so much of it about?”

Suren stared at the monitor, trying to interpret the readout.  “I’m sorry, Doctor, I don’t understand.”  

“Well, earlier today I met a member of a religious sect.  He claimed to be holding my companion Adric, who, I’m told, will be returned unharmed at the feast tonight.  Now, I have my doubts about that, but he also gave me this–” the Doctor held up the partially dismantled transmat control, “–and indicated that it would have been used to teleport me from my impending execution at the Sanctum to some unknown ‘safe location’.”

The medic frowned.  “So you think that this ‘safe location’ is the same place they’re holding your friend?  Is that what this readout is showing?”

“Unfortunately not.”  The Doctor shook his head.  “I was trying to use this control box to triangulate back to the transmat destination point, but it appears to have some, er... ‘security measures’ built in.”  He wafted away the smoke that was still emanating from the device.  “So I set the TARDIS scanners up to detect any nearby pockets of functioning advanced technology... specifically looking for the sophisticated compounds and chemicals that are likely to be used by a group that are obviously experimenting in teleportation.”

“And I take it the results were positive?”

“More so than I expected.”  The Doctor moved next to the young Serenite, indicating several highlighted areas on the monitor readout.  “There are a number of very small, but very concentrated areas that the TARDIS has identified, which means...”

“Serenity is not as primitive as the Order would have us believe,”  Suren finished, frowning. 

“Exactly,” agreed the Doctor, his fingers flying over a keyboard on a nearby panel.  “And it’s interesting you mention the Order, because if I’m not mistaken...”  He tapped the final key with a flourish, and the scan results appeared on the TARDIS internal screen, overlaid with a map of the local area.

Suren’s mouth dropped open as he deciphered the image before him.  “But... _how?!_ ”

“How indeed, Suren,” said the Doctor, smiling, “how indeed!”  He flicked another switch, and the time rotor kicked into life.

“Let’s go and find out, shall we?”

 

 

“I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, Tegan,” Nyssa protested, trying to look over her shoulder to where the Australian woman was fussing behind her.

“I’m just performing my Handmaidenly duties!”  Tegan retorted.  “Now keep still!  These buttons are fiddly enough without you fidgeting!”

Sighing heavily, Nyssa turned her gaze back to the room in front of her.  They had been escorted from the Infirmary by a cohort of acolytes, both of them clothed once more in the garb of the Order to conceal them from the view of the numerous Serenite citizens going about their business in the warm, midday sunshine.  The Procardinal’s Palace was a short walk from the civic centre, and on reaching it the two women had been hastily ushered through its polished halls to the chamber they now occupied, where they were served refreshments before being left to bathe and dress for the feast.  

Rays of afternoon sun now streamed through the windows as Nyssa took in her surroundings once more.  To say their room was lavishly appointed was an understatement; despite her aristocratic background the Trakenite had seldom seen such opulence gathered in once place before.  Gold abounded everywhere she looked - it shone from the various precious objects scattered on gilded shelves and mantles, and threads of it sparkled from curtains and plush upholstery.  Tegan had commented that it must have cost ‘a king’s ransom’.  Nyssa frowned as she wondered who exactly had paid the price.

“There - all done!”  Tegan stepped back to admire her handiwork.  The Order had provided an array of garments; Tegan had chosen a long, full-skirted purple velvet dress which perfectly complemented her auburn colouring, whilst Nyssa was now clothed in a beautifully cut silk gown, enveloped in pale silver folds that flowed from a fitted bodice, the silk shimmering as it caught the light and cascaded down to her feet.  Her arms and shoulders were bare, but encircling her wrists there shone a pair of delicately fashioned platinum bracelets, winding in an elaborate pattern interlaced with opaque white gemstones, matching that within a similar pendant that hung around her neck.  Tegan had been given jewellery of pale gold, which glistened as she stepped back into the sunlight, bringing out the reddish tones in her short hair.  Nyssa’s lengthy tresses were pinned up at the sides; curly tendrils escaped and framed her face, whilst long curls tumbled down her back.

“Well, I think we scrub up quite nicely, don’t you?” said Tegan, grinning.  She twirled so that her skirt fanned out around her.  

Nyssa gave a half-hearted smile, before turning to look at herself in the mirror, her face falling.  

“What’s the matter?”  Tegan appeared, reflected behind her.  “Is it the hair? I can do it differently if you want...?”

“No, Tegan - it’s lovely, really.”  The younger woman turned to her companion and forced a smile.  “You’ve done a wonderful job, much better than I could do, I’m sure.”

“Well, much as I like to blow my own trumpet, you really can’t go wrong with clothes like this.”  Tegan gathered up the folds of Nyssa’s skirt and let it fall through her fingers, the silver material shimmering like water.  “This silk is almost white when it catches the light... you know, on Earth, if you were wearing a dress like this you’d be about to get married.”  She smiled, but then frowned as she saw Nyssa’s face fall again.  Tegan took her hand.  “What is it?”

Nyssa sighed.  “That’s just the point, isn’t it?  Marriage, a family - it’s something I never really considered before Traken was... before I left.  Not seriously, anyway.  And now...”  She dropped Tegan’s hand and sat heavily on a nearby sofa.

“And now,” said Tegan, “well, now you’ve found a whole planetful of possibilities.  So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is all _this_ ,” Nyssa said glumly, indicating their attire and the room around them.  “I know we have to ‘play our parts’ if we’re to save Adric, but I can’t help thinking that... well, the longer I’m ‘the Lady’, the more my chances of a normal life here will slip away.”

Tegan sat down next to her friend.  “And is that what you want?  The marriage and kids thing?”  Nyssa looked at her, her eyes shining with tears.

“Tegan, I’m the last Trakenite in the whole universe.  If I didn’t want that, then... well, I’d be betraying everyone I ever knew and loved... and the Master would truly have won.”

“Well, we don’t have to stay here.  We could find Adric, and leave.”  Tegan put her arm around the young girl’s shoulders.  “You could find a home and a family somewhere else, or maybe even get the Doctor to put the TARDIS to good use for a change and come back here in the future, when all this is ancient history?”

“But wouldn’t that be incredibly selfish of me?”

Tegan looked puzzled.  “In what way?”

“What about all the good I could do here?  What if just my _being_ here brings hope to thousands of people - people who have no-one else to turn to?  What if I used this opportunity to try and guide Serenity towards a more balanced society?  Or found some way to rebuild the Source?”

“Do you think you could do all of that?”

“I could try.”  Nyssa sighed.  “I _should_ try.”

Tegan thought for a moment, then got up and went back over to the mirror, smoothing her hands over the folds of her skirt before looking back at her friend’s image reflected in the polished glass.

“You know, my dad used to say to me: ‘Tegan, you only get one chance at life, so make sure you _live_ it.‘  And I’m beginning to see his point.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last Trakenite in the universe or not, you’re only _one person,_ Nyssa.  And as much as you want to, you can’t save _everyone_.”  Tegan smiled sympathetically.  “You’ve been through so much, I think you can be forgiven for thinking of yourself for a while.”

“And leave all these people in _misery_?”

Tegan turned and looked at her.  “Oh come on Nyssa, how do you know they’re in misery?”

“Trust me Tegan, I _know._ ”  Nyssa absent-mindedly rubbed her temple. 

The Australian woman frowned, then shook her head.  “Well, even if they’re miserable now, they won’t be forever.  What was it Cwej said?  In his time Serenity is held up as an example of a ‘perfectly just society’.  So don’t worry - they’ll get there, eventually!”

“How, Tegan?  _How_ will they get there?”

“What does that matter?”  Tegan rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“It matters,” Nyssa explained patiently, “because we are here, _now_ , walking around in the history of the Serenity that Cwej described.  What if that perfect future only exists because of the choices that _I_ go on to make, here, in the past?”

Tegan thought for a moment, before sighing heavily.  “I’m sorry, Nyssa.  I’m not very good at all this ‘time-travel’ stuff, am I?”  She returned to her seat on the sofa, running her fingers through her hair.  “It still makes my head hurt.”

Nyssa leaned forward, taking her hand, her smile returning.  “Tegan, you’re _very_ good at being a friend... and that’s what matters.” 

 

 

“There!” the Doctor exclaimed, holding the transmat control aloft.  “All done!”

“You’ve fixed it?” Suren questioned.

The Doctor slipped the device into his pocket, then patted it through his coat.  “As good as new!”  He smiled.  “Well, better than new, actually, I’ve made a few modifications of my own... now, if I could only test it...”

The time rotor came to a halt, distracting the Time Lord from his contemplation.  “Ah!  We’re here!”  He checked the console, patted his pockets once more, and reached for the door control.  “Are you coming, Suren?”

“You mean we’ve actually travelled somewhere?”  The medic looked at him in disbelief.  “But we didn’t... I didn’t feel any...”

The Doctor pulled the lever, gesturing for Suren to walk through the slowly opening doorway.  “See for yourself!”

To Suren’s consternation they emerged, not into the lush surroundings of the Grove of Tranquility, but within a dark, windowless room.  Light spilled down from behind a heavy, half-open door at the top of a stone staircase, partially illuminating the space below.  The walls of the room were covered from floor to ceiling with racks of opaque bottles, and the air smelled damp and old, as if no-one had disturbed anything for decades.   Dust clung to everything in a thick layer, apart from a pair of smooth metal doors that dominated one wall.  The Doctor was immediately drawn to them.

“Now these look rather out of place with the rest of the architecture, wouldn’t you say?”  He ran his hands over the cold, featureless surface.  Suren stood in the centre of the room, scratching his head whilst looking back and forth between the TARDIS and the door above, which was blatantly much too small to admit the large blue box.

“Suren?”

The medic turned, shaking his head.  “Sorry, Doctor... what did you say?”

“Never mind.”  The Doctor stepped back from the doors.  “Do you know how to open these?”

“I - I’ve never been down here before, Doctor.”  He looked anxiously up at the half-open door above.  “I’m not sure we’re permitted to be here at _all_ , actually, especially if we are where you _say_ we are...”

The Doctor ignored him, extending his investigation to the surrounding area.  “There’s no visible handle or keypad...”  Moving to a blank area of wall at the side of the doorframe, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “I wonder...” he mused, and began to randomly prod at the roughly-hewn stone blocks.

“Doctor, I don’t think we should - “

“Ah! Got it!” exclaimed the Time Lord, and Suren turned in surprise to see the Doctor’s hand somehow penetrating the solid stone wall, his arm surrounded a by square of glowing white light.  “Now, if I just... there!”  He withdrew his hand triumphantly, as the doors silently slid open in front of them.  

Suren looked on bewilderment.  “But how did you know the control was there?” 

The Doctor had already passed into the room beyond.  “I saw something similar to it on Traken,” he explained, his voice echoing back into the antechamber.  “Atmosphere safe, invisible to the naked eye... unless you know where to look, or course.”  He popped his head back through the doors and grinned at the medic, who was still rooted to the spot.  “Come on then!  Lots to see in here!”

Suren looked nervously up at the door above once more, before hesitantly following the Doctor.

He emerged into a much larger chamber, the contents of which contrasted sharply to those of the antechamber.  As they moved further into the room bright lights suddenly activated, rebounding from the metal walls and floor, temporarily dazzling them.  

“Must be motion activated,” said the Doctor, rubbing his eyes as he regained focus.  “Now, _this_ looks interesting...!”  He moved towards a nearby bank of controls, drawn by its blinking lights and glowing display screens.

As Suren’s vision slowly returned he looked around the room, growing more and more perplexed as his eyes travelled over the unfamiliar array of scientific apparatus contained within, all of which appeared more advanced and in a much better state of repair than his own at the Infirmary.  The wall to his left was covered with a complicated array of pipes and valves, some of which were translucent and appeared to be conveying an amber liquid of some kind.  The centre of the room was dominated by a large metal table, around which were arranged a number of free-standing items of equipment; more machinery hung from the ceiling above its surface, and some of the pipes appeared to feed into this arrangement, whilst others travelled over the ceiling to the opposite wall, connecting to a number of large, cylindrical tanks which were located along its length.  The transparent glass of the tanks revealed that they were filled with more of the straw-coloured liquid from the pipes, which bubbled ominously as the Doctor tinkered with the control panel in front of them.

“Doctor, what _is_ this place?”  Suren moved over to the tanks, placing his hand on the polished glass.  It felt pleasantly warm.

“I have absolutely no idea,” the Doctor muttered, concentrating on the panel before him,  “but this is what the TARDIS picked up on.  Complicated groupings of amino acids and synthesised enzymes that can only be created using advanced techniques of molecular biology.”  He looked up at Suren.  “But for what purpose?”

Their discussion was interrupted by the sound of faint voices emanating from the antechamber.

“Quick, _out!_ ” hissed the Doctor, grabbing Suren and shoving him towards the doors.  They ran for the antechamber at breakneck speed, the Doctor tore around the corner, fumbling for the hidden control, just managing to activate it.  The doors slid silently shut behind them just as the one at the top of the steps was flung open.  

Proctor Morovan burst into the room, flanked by a number of armed Fosters.  He smiled, cruelly.

“I might have known,” he sneered, levelling his pistol at the Doctor’s head.

“Move a muscle, Herald, and you’re _dead._ ”

       

“Adric.”  

The face was speaking again.  Adric panted, tightening his grip on the hand holding his own, clutching it as if it were a lifeline to sanity, and desperately tried to concentrate on the words emanating from the being in front him.  

“Who are you?”

The Alzarian froze, looking into the piercing eyes dancing before him.  Something flared in his mind, breaking its way through the chaos and confusion.  

“ _Who are you?_ ”      

Familiarity flooded Adric’s brain, his visceral frustration and anger giving way to blissful, sentient relief as he recognised the words being spoken.  He clasped the hand before him in both of his own, clinging on to this physical link to his psyche, as synapses fired involuntarily within his mind.

“I... I am the Boy.  Ad... Ad-ric.”

The words came out unbidden, and their delivery left Adric gasping.  The face smiled, rewarding him for his efforts.  The room began to slowly settle around him, as the sweet ecstasy of ordered thought shone like a beacon, sending the nightmarish turmoil of his instinct scuttling into the shadows.   

“Why are you here?”

Adric smiled in relief as the world began to slot into place around him, shaped by the life-giving words echoing through his mind.

“To bring...” he gasped, “I must bring order to Serenity...”

The face smiled once more, the affirmation sending endorphins flooding into the Alzarian’s bloodstream.

“Good, Adric.  Very good.”  The face resolved into that of a bespectacled man, cowled in a grey hood.  He hesitated, licking his lips.

“Now... what is your task?”

“I must...”  Adric stared blankly into his saviour’s eyes.  Nothing else mattered to him, save the face before him, and the words that brought order from insufferable, unbearable chaos.

“I must... _kill..._ the Goddess...”

 


	8. Preparations and Prophesies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Feast draws near, all parties begin their final preparations...

**Chapter 8 - Preparations and Prophecies**

 

“Is all this _really_ necessary?”  The Doctor’s indignant question echoed around the marble corridor he was currently being marched along, accompanied by a pale-faced Suren and a dozen armed Fosters.  

He was answered by a shove between the shoulder blades, courtesy of Proctor Morovan’s energy pistol.  “You have been caught trespassing in a secure section of the Procardinal’s Palace,” sneered Morovan.  “I think that warrants a little ‘chat’ with his Holiness at _least_ , wouldn’t you agree?”

The Doctor sighed.  “Well, I’m all for chatting of course, in fact it’s sometimes quite difficult to shut me up…”  He held up his hands.  “But I do often find that being handcuffed does rather tend to take the fun out of the conversation.”

“How would you like to be gagged as well?” the Proctor growled, before bringing the party to a halt in front of an impressive set of double doors.  “Wait here.  Watch _him_ ,” he snarled, opening the door and disappearing into the room beyond. 

“Charming,” the Doctor muttered, before turning to his fellow prisoner.  The young medic looked pale, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.  The Time Lord frowned.  “Are you alright, Suren?”

Suren visibly shivered.  “Doctor, this is the Procardinal’s Inner Sanctum.  I've never been here before - in fact I don’t know anyone outside the Order who has.”  He lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper.  “None that have returned to tell the tale, in any case.”

“Oh, I’m sure there's nothing to worry about.” The Doctor grinned, as the ornate doors swung open ominously. “Just follow my lead!”

Proctor Morovan re-emerged from the room beyond, and with a jerk of his head indicated for the prisoners to proceed.  The Doctor strode forward confidently, leaving Suren in his wake.

“That’s what got me into this mess in the first place,” Suren muttered under his breath, before following, somewhat more reluctantly.

He found the Doctor standing in the middle of a large and lavishly decorated room, staring about himself with an air of nonchalant interest, for all the world as if he were a tourist admiring the architecture.  Suren moved to join him, the plushness of the surroundings serving only to increase his anxiety.  In front of them was a large and highly polished desk, the surface of which was strewn with ancient-looking texts and rolls of paper, interspersed with gilded goblets and objet d’art.  The high-backed chair accompanying it was currently empty, and Suren looked warily around the chamber in an effort to find its usual occupant.  

“Over there,” growled Morovan from behind them, the nearest Fosters pushing the prisoners in the back so as to remove any doubt as to their destination.  On the far side of the room was a set of brocaded curtains, filling the expanse from floor to ceiling.  They were flanked by a pair of white-robed acolytes, who promptly pulled the curtains back, revealing an open doorway leading out to an expansive balcony beyond.  The Doctor and Suren were herded through the doors, emerging into the dazzling late afternoon sunlight.  

“Ah, my Lord Herald!  What a surprise to see you again so soon!”

The prisoners turned to see the rotund figure of Procardinal Jonaris, recumbent on a cushioned couch.  His evident relaxation was in complete juxtaposition to the number of acolytes busying around him, some occupied with paring his finger and toenails, whilst others massaged his fleshy shoulders.  “In handcuffs again, I see?” he sneered.

The Doctor squinted against the reddening sunlight, flashing a disarming smile.  “Unfortunately so, Procardinal.  It seems to be an occupational hazard as of late.”

“Well, when one’s occupation is ushering in the obliteration of worlds I can see how that could become the case,” Jonaris mocked, but the smile he gave in return soon collapsed into a heavy scowl.  “But enough of these pleasantries.  I believe you have been trespassing within my Holy Precincts.”

Morovan stepped eagerly forward.  “We apprehended them in the lower cellars, my Lord.  The Herald’s transport device was there also.”

“Ah, yes,” the Doctor interceded, his bound hands raised in admission, “A simple navigational error, you understand.  The TARDIS can be a little temperamental from time to time.  I really must take her in for a service one of these days…”

“A likely story!” growled Morovan.  “Do you really expect us to believe that you are from race so scientifically advanced as to be capable of mastering the complexities of time travel, yet you do not have the understanding to pilot your vehicle properly?”

“Um, yes, well…”  The Doctor's complexion flushed, taking on the hues of the blushing sky.  “Piloting the TARDIS is often more of an art than a science, I’ve found, and I’m afraid I’m much more novice than Grand Master.  I meant to materialise several floors up, near to where my companions are currently enjoying the luxuries of your magnificent palace.”  He looked cautiously over the marble balustrade to his left.  The balcony appeared to overlook the Civic Square; the Doctor could see a number of citizens milling about far below, hurrying to complete the day’s business before the sun set.  “Very impressive, I must say... tell me, exactly how high up are we?”

“High enough,” growled the Procardinal, “to ensure certain death for anyone _unfortunate_ enough to fall.”  He looked meaningfully at the Doctor, who stepped cautiously back from the edge.  “Now, much as I enjoy discussions of an architectural nature I really must enquire, Doctor, as to exactly what you saw in my cellars.”

“Oh, nothing really,” said the Doctor, feigning nonchalance.  “A staircase, some dusty wine bottles, a set of mysterious metal doors... nothing to write home about!”

Suren stepped nervously forward.  “We really saw nothing, my Lord Procardinal.  We had exited the Doctor’s transport capsule but moments before the Proctor arrived.”

“Really?” sneered Morovan, folding his arms across his chest.

“Absolutely!”  The Doctor grinned.

“Then why were you facing _towards_ your transport when we apprehended you? If you had just stepped out, then you would be facing _away_ from it, and towards the doors, surely?”

The Doctor cleared his throat.  "Well, of course it only took those few moments to realise that we were in completely the wrong place! We were just heading back into the TARDIS to adjust the spatial depth settings when you so fortunately found us.  But now that you mention those doors... they did strike me as not particularly in keeping with the architecture.  A recent addition, are they?”

“That is no concern of yours, Time Lord!” the cleric spat, snatching his hands away from his attendant acolytes and struggling to sit up.  

Proctor Morovan cleared his throat and stepped forward.  “The Order has an extensive wine collection, gathered over centuries from across the colony.  Some of the examples are extremely rare, extending back to even before the destruction of the Union.  Unfortunately we have experienced some pilferage in recent years, and have had to take measures to protect some of the more priceless bottles.  The doors you saw are simply an effort to preserve the remainder, nothing more.”

“Of course.  That makes perfect sense, thank you Proctor Morovan.”  The Doctor raised an eyebrow.  “I must say, for a member of the Civic security force you really are very well informed on the intricacies of the Order.  Who is it you report to again?”  Before Morovan could respond, the Doctor turned to address the Procardinal:  “Well, now that’s all cleared up, we really must be going.  There is a party to get ready for, after all, and we wouldn't want to keep the Lady waiting, would we?”

Jonaris leaned forward, fixing the Time Lord with an intense stare, his eyes twinkling like jewelled pins in the fleshy cushion of his face.  “What exactly are your intentions here, Doctor?”

The Doctor recoiled, surprised.  “My intentions? My intent is purely benign, I assure you.  Nothing more than bringing the Lady Nyssa safely home.  And taking every step I can to ensure her _continued_ safety, of course,” he said, his words heavy with meaning.

“Ha!” the Procardinal scoffed.  “Do you take us for fools, Herald?  Given your track record, you cannot expect us to believe that this is the truth of the matter!”

“‘The _truth_ of the matter?’ I’m beginning to realise that one has to delve quite deeply on Serenity to begin to have any idea of the _truth_ of the matter.  I’d be interested to hear _your_ perspective on that particular subject, my Lord Procardinal.”

“You insolent wretch!” Jonaris raged - “I am the Procardinal of Serenity!  Most Holy Servant to the Lady!  The truth is AS I DECREE IT!”

“Really?” The Doctor's voice raised an octave as his complexion darkened. “I’ve always understood the truth to be far more objective in nature, and certainly not subject to monopoly!”

The Procardinal struggled to his feet, approaching the Doctor with an air of quiet menace, until their faces were inches apart.  “The ‘truth’ is, Doctor, I could have you flung from this terrace in an instant, and the _truth_ of your failed attempt to assassinate me would have spread across the colony before your worthless body hit the ground.”

The Doctor smiled, unfazed by the nearness of the cleric’s florid visage or the naked threat hanging in the small space between them.  “I think you’re forgetting something, Procardinal.”

“And what would that be?”

“That I am under the protection of the Lady you profess to serve so faithfully.  Are you sure you can convince _her_ of your so-called ‘truth’?”

Jonaris stared for a moment, before turning away from the Time Lord with a snarl.  “Release them, Morovan, and escort them to the Lady’s quarters.  I have no patience for any further drivel!”

Suren visibly sagged in relief, whilst the Doctor gave an exaggeratedly low bow.  

“A wise decision, your Holiness!”  He beamed, as the Proctor removed their bonds.  “Well, we really must get on, lots to do... I expect we’ll see you at the feast tonight?”

Jonaris breathed deeply in a visible effort to contain his temper.  “Of course,” he growled, through gritted teeth.  “As the Lady’s foremost minister I have the... _honour..._ of hosting the proceedings, and ensuring that she receives the welcome that she _deserves_.”  He paused for a moment, his expression developing into sardonic leer. “I’m _sure_ you will enjoy what we have planned.”  The smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, as Jonaris turned towards the Proctor.  “Now get them out of my sight, Morovan, before the urge to adjust the Herald’s ‘spatial depth settings’ _myself_ becomes overpowering!”

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced as Morovan quickly barked an order, causing two burly Fosters to spring to life and herd the newly-liberated pair towards the door.  They had just reached the threshold when the Procardinal called for them to halt. The party turned and looked at him expectantly.

“Enjoy the Lady’s protection while you can, Herald.  But remember that nothing lasts forever.  We on Serenity learned that three centuries ago.  At _your_ hands.”  He waved a bejewelled hand dismissively, and his heavy features set into a scowl as the Doctor and Suren were bustled from the room.

 

 

Footsteps echoed in the dank stone corridor where Brother Byrnus waited, illuminated by a flickering pool of torchlight, his arms folded nervously about him.  He turned towards the sound, standing to attention as a hooded, grey-clad figure rounded the corner and approached him, entering his small circle of luminescence.  Byrnus knuckled his brow in acknowledgement of the newcomer.

“Well, Brother? How is our guest?”

“Much improved, Father,”  Byrnus gushed, his voice brimming with relief.  “He is responding well to the stimuli, and his anger, though not abated, seems to be focused in the desired direction.  I believe he is ready.”

The Grey Father nodded his cowled head as he considered his companion’s words.  “You have done well, Byrnus, against all the odds.  When all this is done, you shall be duly rewarded.”

Byrnus bowed, wringing his sweaty hands.  “I have merely acted in accordance with the Prophecy, Father.  To have played my part in liberating Serenity from ignorance is reward enough.”

“True, Brother, true.  We stand on the brink of salvation, when all we have been promised these long years is but a hair’s breadth away.”  The Grey Father paused, apparently deep in thought.

“Indeed, Father.  I have reviewed our preparations exhaustively - nothing has been missed.  All that remains is to act out what we know must happen.”

The older man nodded once more, his gnarled hand lost within the darkness of his hood, as if rubbing his face in contemplation.  “I am grateful for your diligence, Byrnus, and have every faith in your thoroughness and attention to detail, or I would not have entrusted you with this all-important task in the first place.  However…”

“Is something wrong, Father?” Byrnus interrupted nervously - “Something I have missed?”

Something akin to a chuckle emerged from the older man’s hood, and he reached out to clasp Byrnus’ shoulder.  “No, Brother.  Be assured I did not mean to cast doubt on your readiness.  I just feel I should perhaps visit our mentor one last time.  It is fitting, I think, to pay homage on the eve of our deliverance to the one who has been so instrumental in guiding our efforts.”

  Byrnus bowed deeply.  “As you wish, Father.  I shall ready the transmat at once.”  

The Grey Father nodded his assent, and Byrnus exited the pool of torchlight and hurried off down a darkened passageway.  The older man remained, contemplating the heavy wooden door before him and the hopes vested within the volatile alien youth beyond it.

“Yes…” he muttered softly.  “Just one last visit.  No harm in making sure…”

 

 

“Well, I think that went _splendidly_ considering the circumstances, don’t you agree, Suren?”

The Serenite medic momentarily raised his eyebrows as he was marched through the opulent corridors of the Procardinal’s Palace at the Doctor’s side, before wincing as he felt the butt of a Foster’s rifle between his shoulder blades for the umpteenth time.  “I’m not sure the word ‘splendid’ is one I would choose, Doctor, but it certainly went considerably better than I had expected.  ‘Better’ in that we appear to still be _breathing_ , in any case.”

“Absolutely!”  The Doctor grinned.  “Always a bonus, I feel.  And he’s such a charming fellow, your Procardinal, isn't he?”

Proctor Morovan, who was marching a pace or two before the pair, scowled over his shoulder.  “Less of the chatter, Herald, or you’ll be going right back the way you came.”

“Just a harmless observation, Proctor, I assure you.”  The Doctor plunged his hands in his pockets, deep in thought as he stared at the pattern in the plush carpet beneath their feet.  They trudged for a moment in silence before the Doctor spoke again.  “Would you care to hear another observation of mine?”

“No.”

“Excellent!” the Time Lord enthused, ignoring Morovan’s monosyllabic grunt. “Well, whilst we were enjoying the Procardinal’s unstinting hospitality, I happened to notice something very interesting about his acolytes.”

Suren looked up.  “The Brothers of the Order?”

“Yes!”  The Doctor smiled. “Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but they all appear to be exactly the same height.  Intriguing, don’t you think?”

“Not really.”  Morovan turned a corner ahead of them, and the party followed him into a larger corridor, even more finely decorated than the last, filled with russet-coloured sunlight streaming through a vaulted glass ceiling above.  They were clearly on the top floor of the Palace, reserved for only the uppermost echelons of the Serenite faith.  

“Oh. Really?”  The Doctor pouted.  “Why not?”

The Proctor continued on, stopping before an impressive set of doors, which were flanked by two white-robed attendants.  He turned to face his charges.  

“The Brothers who attend the Palace are all hand-picked for participation in ceremonial duties.  They are required to be a certain height to add a level of uniformity and style to proceedings.”  He motioned to the hooded acolytes, who moved to open the doors.  “The Lady and her Handmaiden are quartered within.  You will both remain here until I return to escort you all to the Feast.”

The Doctor stopped his examination of the white-robed attendants and turned to face the Proctor.  “Am I to understand that our movements are still restricted then, Proctor Morovan?  I was under the impression that the Procardinal had released us, and Prime Consul Varden certainly didn’t place any limitations on where we could go…”

“But you are in the _Procardinal’s_ domain now, Herald, and therefore under _his_ jurisdiction.  And given your recent ‘wanderings’ he certainly does not want you poking about where you’re not wanted.  So I repeat - _you are to remain here.”_ The Proctor leaned closer, menacingly.  “Am I making myself clear?”

The Doctor recoiled slightly.  “Crystal.” 

“Good.”  Morovan briefly scanned the interior of the room, then turned back to his charges.  “You may enter.  I will return shortly.”  He turned to the attending acolytes: “Do not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to leave this room.”  The white-robed attendants bowed in synchrony, as the Proctor turned on his heel and marched back down the corridor.

The Doctor watched him go, then turned to Suren with a hearty smile, indicating the door before them.  "Shall we?"

 

 

The grey-cowled figure grimaced, every tendon and sinew in his body tensing in anticipation as light flared, and his entire being was meticulously deconstructed.  The darkened chamber in which he stood dissolved before the remnants of his eyes.  For a moment he existed entirely as a nebulous series of impulses along a line of transmission, before being recombined, atom by atom, in an entirely different place.  The familiar tingle of arrival ran along his nerve endings as his destination materialised before him.

As he stepped down from the circular transmat platform, the Grey Father absent-mindedly ran his hands over his torso to verify that he was, once again, all in one piece.  This confirmed, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small communicator.

“Transmat complete, Brother Byrnus.  I shall contact you again shortly.  Standby.”  The device crackled with his subordinate’s distorted response, and he stowed it back within the folds of his robes.

The low room that now surrounded him was currently devoid of life.  Evidence of recent occupancy abounded however from every surface - the walls were lined with an infinite variety of books, some of which lay open on a large workbench along one wall, where they shared the space with assorted papers, charts, and scientific apparatus.  A flask of fluid bubbled merrily above a flickering burner,  whilst a similarly agitated kettle rattled on a stove on the opposite side of the room.  The atmosphere was thick with rich organic aromas, heady with age and time.  The Grey Father headed towards the whistling pot, his fingers tracing along dusty shelves filled with half-assembled electrical components, tools and wiring.  The noise of the boiling kettle died down as he removed it from the heat; the renewed silence held no longevity however, being immediately broken by the sound of shuffling feet, the tap of a cane, and a soft, electronically augmented voice. 

“Ah - my dear Father.  I wasn’t expecting you!”

The Grey Father turned sharply, the steaming pot still in his hand.  He greeted the newcomer with a curt bow.  A dry chuckle emanated from beneath his cowl.

“Given our current situation, old friend, that statement doesn’t entirely fill me with confidence.  You are the _Seer_ , are you not?”

The figure shuffled forward, his movement disturbing the path of numerous dust particles shining in a shaft of early evening sunlight, their leisurely descent agitated into furious swirls and eddies that danced around a robed frame bowed with age.     

“Ha!  Details, details... you know I don’t concern myself with everyday banality.  I reserve my skills for matters of much more import than uninvited guests showing up for tea!”

A terse electronic cackle forced itself through the silver breath-mask covering the figure’s nose and mouth, which quickly deteriorated into a rasping cough, stirring the dust into an even more elaborate dance.  The Grey Father put the kettle onto the rough, wooden table in front of him, then helped his companion to a chair.  He sat himself in another, and began to pour the tea whilst he waited for his companion to recover.  

“You should get someone to help around here,” the Father opined, smiling as he noticed the two teacups set out on the table - “all this dust can’t help your condition.”

The coughing subsided.  “It’s not the dust, my friend, so much as this old piece of rubbish.”  The Seer tapped the silver mask.  “I should have known better than to trust Cyber-technology, or the blasted Salostophian trader keen to take advantage of a blind old fool!”

The Father pushed a steaming cup towards his friend’s wrinkled hands.  “You’re no fool, Seer.  And you’re far from blind.”

“Near enough.”  The Seer indicated the small, dark goggles completely covering his eyes.  The lenses were opaque crystal, the frames a dark grey metal picked out with delicate silver swirling patterns.  “If it wasn’t for these I wouldn’t be able to see a thing.  Picked them up from the tinclavic mines on Raaga in... well, it must be fifty years ago.  Much more elegant in design, you see... unlike this Cyber-rubbish, they were built by someone with an eye for beauty...”  The Seer trailed off, deep in contemplation as he stirred his tea.  

“Seer–” the Grey Father began.

“Anyway, there’s no point cleaning - this old body will be worn out long before the dust overwhelms me.”

“Old friend, I–”

“Yes.  Well, it’s my own fault for messing with chemicals that had no business being together.  Never mix elements from different universes, my friend - you mark my words!”  The old figure wagged a crooked finger at the cleric.  “There’s a natural balance to things, and it must be respected!”

The Grey Father stirred his tea, waiting until he was certain the elder man had finished rambling.  “On the subject of balance, Seer, you may remember that our current situation is poised on a knife edge.”

“Ah, yes.  You’re here about the Boy.  Adric.”

“Yes, Seer.  I know you’ve told me in the past of his role, and that he is key to tipping the balance in our favour.  Of course we have followed your advice on numerous occasions, and your prophecies have never failed us yet, but–”  The Grey Father hesitated, steepling his fingers.  “I don’t mean to question your wisdom, however I–”

“You are uncomfortable with the fate of Serenity resting in the hands of what, by now, must be a volatile, unstable creature of instinct.”  

The Grey Father nodded silently.

“I can see your dilemma, my friend.”  The Seer smiled.  “You are used to being in control.  In fact you crave control so much, you tolerate the whims of an old fool in order to control the uncontrollable - to shape the future.  To leave the culmination of all your work to the whims of a chemically-unbalanced youth must be hard for you, I can see that.”  He took the cleric’s hands in his own.

“You must trust me, Father.  Adric will fulfill his role to the letter.  Already his Alzarian biology is fighting the unfamiliar chemicals in his system, adapting his physiology to regain control of his mind and his body.  That point is close at hand, but he will learn - as you must also learn - that control is an illusion.”

“But if the effects wear off before he has completed his mission, then there is no way he will carry it through!”

    The Seer sat back, the hint of a smile visible behind the silver mask.  “The Boy is confused, and has always been easily swayed.  The seeds you have sown in his mind will hold true.”  

“And the Herald?  He appears to be just as unpredictable... if not more so.”

“Ah... the Herald.”  The Seer chuckled.  “He is far too preoccupied at the moment with thoughts of his own contributions to history to interfere with our work.  That's always been his trouble, really - he’s far too sentimental to be a time-traveller.  Just keep his mind on Traken, and our success will be assured.”

The younger man sighed.  “I wish I had your certainty, Seer.”

“The change will come, my dear Father.”  The elder smiled.  “Have faith.”

“Faith,” the cleric said disdainfully, “is the part I am struggling with.  I have put a lot of faith in you, old man.”

The Seer held his hands aloft in mock hurt.  “And haven’t I always justified that faith?”

“Overall, yes, of course.  I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”  The cleric folded his arms.  “But there are things you have kept from us.  Things I suspect you are _still_ keeping from us.”

“As it was, so must it be, Father.  You know that.”

The Father stared back at him impassively.  “That doesn’t help.”

“I’m not here to help you, Father.  What has been, _must_ be.  There is no other option.”  The Seer leaned forward, peering intently through his opaque lenses.  His words, when he spoke, bore the weight of prophecy:

“ _The Boy will eliminate the Goddess.  The Order will fall.  Science and logic will triumph over faith, the corrupt society will crumble, and the light of the Source will be reborn from the ashes.  And Serenity will take its rightful place in the Universe._ ”

 

 

The last remnants of the fading sun clung to the rooftops of the Serenite capital, the dying light staining spires and chimneys in russet hues, whilst the world below was engulfed by lengthening shadows.  To the west, the evening sky was painted a rich scarlet, broken only by wisps of cloud edged with gold.  To the east the sky darkened, the encroaching gloom deepened by the gathering of ominous black clouds, heavy with rain.  

The dwindling sunlight encircled the edge of the high balcony where Proctor Morovan stood, surveying the scene before him.  He took a deep breath; the humid air was heavy with exotic scents drifting from the Palace's ornamental gardens, and the evening seemed alive with the chattering of wildlife, as birds and insects lamented the close of another day.  In the Civic Square below citizens bustled past each other, limbs heavy from a long day at work, yet eager to reach home before curfew.  The Proctor watched them wearily disperse and, not for the first time, envied them their simple lives.

“And you’re _sure_ they didn't see anything?”

Morovan turned to face Procardinal Jonaris, who was still reclining in his chair, sipping wine from an ornate goblet.  “I can’t be certain, my Lord, but the doors were closed, and there was no sign of anything beyond being disturbed in any way.  I suspect they were foiled by the atmosphere lock.”

“I wish I could be sure…” Jonaris mused.  “I suppose we must be thankful that the last batch had been deployed so recently.  Not much to see, even if they did get in.”  Jonaris took a long draught from his goblet, deep in thought.  “Still, it’s awfully risky, especially given the nature of the new batch.”

The Proctor bowed his head.  “I realise what is at stake, my Lord.  I have secured the cellar, and posted a guard.  The Herald and the medic have been escorted to the Lady’s quarters, where your men stand guard.  They cannot make a move without our knowledge.”

“You had better right, Morovan,” the Procardinal growled, finishing his wine with a hefty swig.  “The continued existence of the Order depends upon it.”

 

 

“So you know all about this ‘Source Marker’ thingy, do you?”  Tegan sat on a plush sofa opposite her Trakenite friend.  Nyssa, sipping her tea, nodded.

“Of course I do, Tegan!” she replied, rather primly.  “I am an expert in bioelectronics after all.  It has always been the case that only those of the Trakenite nobility could become Keeper and commune with the Source.”

“And that doesn’t worry you at all?” Tegan asked, “That someone might want to get their hands on this ability of yours?”

Nyssa frowned.  “But why would they?  The Source is long gone, Tegan.  It took the resources of all the worlds of the Union to create it, and those worlds are lost.  Any ability I have is essentially redundant.”

The Australian woman stirred her tea.  “I suppose you’re right,” she reluctantly agreed, “but there’s something not right around here, I can feel it.  I wouldn’t trust anyone on Serenity as far as I could throw them.”

“Throw them where?”  Nyssa wrinkled her nose in confusion.  “Is it really an Earth custom to measure trust by the distance you can physically hurl a person?”

Tegan rolled her eyes.  “For cripe’s sake... Doctor, help me out here!”

“Hmm?”  The Time Lord stood by the suite’s large window, where he had stationed himself since he and Suren had rejoined the two girls.  The medic had taken one look at Tegan and Nyssa in their new attire, and after blushing furiously had stammered something about ‘a change of clothes’ before hurrying off into one of the adjoining rooms.  Bathed in the blood-red light of the setting sun, the Doctor was tinkering with some wiring protruding from a small electronic device, his long blond hair hanging down from his temples.  “What’s the matter?” he said absent-mindedly, without looking up.

“Oh, forget it,” sighed Tegan.  She frowned at the Time Lord, clad in his usual cricketing attire - “Hey Doctor, shouldn’t you be thinking about getting changed too?  There’s bound to be something to fit you in there.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable as I am, thank you Tegan,” the Doctor declared.  “Besides, the last time I got changed for a party I was promptly accused of murder, and I’ve had quite enough of being tarred with that brush recently…” He looked up at the welcome distraction of Suren re-entering the room through an adjoining door.  “Ah, Suren!  Very dashing - you look quite the gentleman!”

The medic bowed, blushing.  He was dressed in a charcoal-grey suit, with a three-quarter length jacket bound by a deep purple sash at his waist; a matching strip of material encircled his neck around a high collared white shirt.  “Thank you Doctor, but I’m afraid I pale into insignificance next to your lovely companions.”

“Yes, well, you all look splendid, I must say.”  The Doctor stuffed the device he was working on into his pocket, then walked over to a table filled with fruit and salads at the side of the room; carefully selecting a fresh stick of celery from a platter, he replaced the old stick on his lapel.  “There!” He turned to his companions with a flourish - “I’m ready!”

Suren moved toward the seating area, bowing low in Nyssa’s direction.  “My Lady, you truly look divine... both of you, of course,” he said, shyly looking in Tegan’s direction.

“Thank you, Suren.”  Nyssa smiled.  “It’s all Tegan’s work, really.”

“I see you are wearing the emblem of the Order.”  Suren indicated the opaque gem encircled with silver adorning Nyssa’s neck.

“It was put out for me.”  Nyssa shrugged.  “I assumed it was required.”

The Doctor joined them.  “May I?” 

Nyssa held the pendant aloft - the Doctor took it with one hand, the other thrust into his pocket.  He turned it over, examining the gem closely.  “Interesting... does the stone have any symbolic significance?” he queried, pulling his half-moon spectacles from his pocket and donning them.

“Yes,” Suren replied, nodding - “it symbolises the light of the Source, kept alive by eternal faith in the Lady, represented by the encircling silver band.”

“Encircling?”  The Doctor raised his eyebrows - “Or restricting?”

“It is merely an emblem, Doctor.  Science and faith, inextricably linked.”

“Hmm…” the Time Lord mused, turning the pendant over again and handing it back to Nyssa.  “But who is in control…?”

A sharp rap on the door brought the Doctor’s train of thought to an abrupt halt.  Proctor Morovan entered, flanked by a number of Fosters, and surveyed the company before him.

“My Lady,” he said, with a curt nod - “I have come to escort you to the Feast.”

 

 

The high-vaulted ceiling of the Civic Hall resounded with conversation and laughter as the elite members of Serenite society gathered below.  As the last remnants of the sun disappeared from the sky the great and the good congregated in the chamber, attired in their finest robes, nodding courteous greetings to colleagues and acquaintances before pausing to marvel at the sumptuous decoration surrounding them.  Outside, rain clouds gathered ominously overhead, deepening the twilight into darkness and obscuring the stars that had cautiously begun to poke their way through the ether.  Inside, the vast chamber was illuminated by its own celestial display, as a multitude of tiny points of light hung in the air above the heads of the assembly, swirling and dancing like a tiny, pocket universe. The heavenly light scattered across the room, rebounding off the gilded table wear and the jewels and adornments of the people below.  The sparkling air was perfumed with the scents of the vibrant orchids and greenery that graced every available surface, reminding the illustrious guests of Serenity’s lush botanical heritage, which was also reflected in the patterns of the numerous weavings and tapestries hanging from the walls.  The delicate music floating amid light and scent completed the ethereal, multi-sensory effect.

“You have done well, Fenravic.”  Procardinal Jonaris stood at the entrance to the Hall, dressed in his finest silken robes, and accompanied by a number of attending acolytes.  He looked around with a critical eye, before grudgingly nodding his approval.  The Highbishop at his side sank into an exhausted bow, his movements denoting a mixture of reverence and relief.  “Thank you my Lord, you are too kind, it was an honour to serve–”

“Yes, yes - enough of your fawning,” Jonaris interrupted with a wave of his hand.  “Is _everything_ ready?”  He looked at his subordinate pointedly, a raised, plucked eyebrow causing his forehead to erupt into deep, fleshy furrows.  The Highbishop nodded gravely, bowing once more.

“All is as you requested, my Lord.  I–”  Fenravic looked up to find the Procardinal had moved on, cutting a wide swathe through the assembly, and disregarding the gracious bows and curtsies he left in his substantial wake.  Wiping the sweat from his brow, the Highbishop turned to the acolytes waiting beside him.  “Well, what are you all waiting for?  Places, places!” he clapped his hands.  "Our guest of honour is on her way!”

 


	9. A Divine Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elite of Serenity pay tribute to their Lady, but a few uninvited guests mean not everything goes to plan...

**Chapter 9 - A Divine Feast**

 

“I’m not sure I can do this, Doctor…”

Escorted by a troop of Fosters, the Time Lord and his party had been taken from their suite at the Procardinal’s palace and led through the gardens to a secluded gateway adjacent to the Civic Hall.  They had paused here, whilst Proctor Morovan had gone on ahead to ensure their short remaining route was free of the crowds that had already begun to congregate in the Civic Square.

“Nyssa?”  The wind had picked up, agitating the surrounding foliage and ruffling the Doctor’s blond hair as he turned to his companion.  “Is something wrong?”  

The Trakenite shivered, drawing a velvet wrap around her shoulders.  She glanced round to where Tegan stood a short way off, chatting amiably with Suren.  They seemed happy and at ease.  Nyssa felt a small, surprising pang of jealousy before she turned back to face the Doctor.

“I - I’m not really sure this is a such a good idea, Doctor.  This feast, all the people… it’s all getting a bit, well... overwhelming.”  She sighed.  The Doctor put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her intently.

“The voices?” he questioned, his own voice sinking to a low whisper to avoid the attentions of their accompanying Fosters.  

Nyssa closed her eyes, avoiding the Doctor’s penetrating stare.  “It’s partly that,” she replied.  “They’ve become stronger in the past few minutes, even more numerous... and it’s as if…”  she paused, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“As if what?”

She opened her eyes.  “As if they know I’m here.  Like all their hopes and dreams are focused in one place, trying to push their way in.”

“And the mental barriers we worked on?  How are they holding up?”

Nyssa rubbed her forehead.  “Fine, I think.  It’s just... I can feel the weight of all those emotions, pressing against my mind.  It’s–”  She paused, searching for the right word.  “Suffocating.”

The Doctor straightened up, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets as he contemplated the situation.  A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, adding weight to the heavy clouds already threatening above.

“Under any other circumstances, Nyssa, I wouldn’t ask, you know that.”  The Doctor sighed.  “But with Adric missing, in the hands of this unknown faction…”

“I know, Doctor.”  Nyssa nodded resignedly.  “I can’t see any other way to save him either.”  She took a deep breath, gathering herself.  “Well... I suppose if my Father was prepared to take the weight of the problems of the entire Union on his shoulders, I should be able to get through this... for Adric’s sake.”

“That’s the spirit, Nyssa!”  The Doctor smiled.  “Brave heart!”

The iron gate creaked as Proctor Morovan returned, causing the Fosters to snap to attention.  

“They are ready for us, and await our guest of honour.  With me, please!” he barked.  The men readied themselves, and Tegan moved to Nyssa’s side.

“Ready, my Lady?” she smiled.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”  Nyssa turned her face up to the sky, as the first drops of rain began to fall.

 

 

Some distance away in the garden, two cloaked figures stood and watched the party move off, their presence obscured by the lush foliage that began to bounce and dance under the intensifying rainfall.  The taller figure pulled his grey hood further over his face and turned to his more diminutive companion, who was clothed in the white robes of the Order.  

“Not long now, my friend…”  Byrnus smiled, removing his spectacles and drying them on his sleeve.  “Soon we will be free from the tyranny of faith.”  

Thunder grumbled from the east; the birds sheltering in the surrounding trees were silenced momentarily, before resuming their nervous chattering.  The cleric looked to the sky with a wry chuckle.  “I wonder if it foreknows its end?”

His companion said nothing, but held out his hands, palms facing towards the sky, watching as the tiny spheres of rain exploded onto his skin.

 

 

A hush fell among the chattering dignitaries gathered within the Civic Hall as Proctor Morovan entered from the vestibule, followed by his band of Fosters.  He nodded to Procardinal Jonaris, who ascended the marble stairs, and turned to address the ensemble.  

“Honoured Consuls, venerated guests, my fellow brethren. I stand before you tonight humbled on so many counts.  Firstly, in all my years of public servitude, I cannot recall the Great Hall looking as magnificent as it does this night.”  Jonaris paused, as gentle applause rippled around the room.  “Nor can I remember it filled with so many illustrious guests of such high esteem.”  He smiled, raising his arms to welcome the company before him.  “But tonight, my friends, we are thrice blessed.  Tonight, we stand on the edge of history.  Tonight, we bear witness to events that will echo throughout time, and shape the future of every man, woman and child on Serenity!”  Applause echoed around the great chamber once more.  The Procardinal nodded, and waited patiently for silence to resume.

“For three hundred years we among the faithful have waited patiently for this day to arrive.  There have been times, I am sure, in the heart of each one of us, when we doubted it would ever come.  Some of us–” he broke off, laughing, “Well, I am ashamed to say that some of us have waited so long that we failed to recognise when it was right in front of us…”  He bowed in mock contrition, then turned to Fenravic and his support staff.  “However I am assured that tonight’s feast would melt even a goddess’s heart, so I may still be in luck!”  The crowd cheered, laughing along with the rotund cleric, before his face became serious once more.

“We have held fast, my brethren, between hope and despair, through darkness and famine... but now, our long wait is over.  Now, our harvest has come home.  Now is our time to feast, as we welcome…”  Jonaris held his hands up in rapture.  “Our Lady of Traken.”

Music swelled, as in the vestibule Tegan turned to Nyssa, who stood nervously clutching the pendant around her neck.

“Well, you can’t say he hasn’t given you a decent build up!”  She grinned, trying to diffuse the obvious tension in her young friend.  

The Doctor put a hand on her shoulder.  “Ready, Nyssa?” he asked.

“Not really, no.”  Nyssa sighed, before gathering herself, taking a deep breath, and stepping forward through the doorway.

The music soared as she entered the Civic Hall, suddenly amplified by tumultuous applause and shouts of rapture.  Unperturbed, Nyssa paused to give a formal curtsy, before sweeping regally down the stairs, her platinum gown shimmering about her as she descended towards the smiling Procardinal.  The cleric bowed deeply as she approached, then dropped slowly to his knees, abasing himself before her.  Nyssa held a slender hand out to him, and Jonaris took it in both of his plump, bejewelled hands, pressing it to his forehead.  

The Doctor, Tegan and Suren stood together at the top of the stairs.  

“She sure looks ready to me!” whispered Tegan.  The Doctor leaned his head toward hers, so as to be heard over the crowd.

“She may not be a goddess, Tegan, but as a Traken noblewoman Nyssa was trained in this kind of thing from an early age.  It’s in her blood.”

The music subsided, and the noise from the assembly died with it, as one by one the nobility of Serenity sank to their knees, heads bowed in reverence.  Nyssa surveyed the people before her, then stepped forward.

“Noble citizens of Serenity, I thank you deeply for this warm welcome.  But please, stand.  I require no such deference.”  

The people paused momentarily, unsure of how to proceed, until Nyssa extended her hand to Procardinal Jonaris, and helped him to rise.  Slowly and quietly, the assembled Serenites got to their feet.  

“Thank you.” Nyssa smiled. "And thank you, Procardinal, for your kind words.  It truly has been a long and arduous journey for us all, since the fateful day our beloved Union was taken from us.  We have each of us been tested, including myself, sometimes in ways you could not possibly imagine.  But I - the last Daughter of Traken - stand before you now, and as we join together and share the cup of kinship during this wonderful feast, at last I can finally say... I am _home_.”

The assembly erupted into cheers and applause as the music struck into life once more, and the voice of Procardinal Jonaris roared above the throng:

“Let the feast begin!”

 

 

Ice-cold rain ripped through the branches above Adric’s head, penetrating his thin clothes and slowly saturating his skin. Looking up, he tried to follow the path of the individual drops but the attempt left him dizzy and nauseous.  The cold and damp spread across his flesh, but somehow it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable.  Instead he felt strangely nourished and revitalised, as if the wet and cold were his natural elements, and he was drawing strength from each droplet of water.  Now all he had to do was immerse his body in the cold waters of the marsh once more, and he would be himself again.

He looked around.  The trees of Alzarius reached towards the gloomy sky all around him, propping up the black, rain-filled clouds.  He could smell the stagnant waters of the marsh, could feel them calling him home, but the wind whipped the scent around his head in a tortuous dance, giving no clear indication of direction.  He looked to the ground, hoping to see a path, a footprint, anything that would lead him back to where he belonged.

What Adric saw in the long grass at his feet sparked a different type of recognition within him.  A long, colourful object snaked through the undergrowth, catching on brambles and branches, and leading off into the trees.  He followed its path, desperately trying to remember where he had seen the thing before... picking it up, he sniffed at it, and the scent awoke a different kind of memory: a _new_ home, fresh and exciting, and...

“Doctor?”

The word emerged unbidden from his subconscious, confusing him, filling him with both fear and exhilaration at the same time.  Adric picked up the... scarf!  He smiled as he recalled the word that had eluded him, then took the scarf in both hands and followed it through the dense, wet foliage, until he emerged into a small clearing and stood, breathing heavily with excitement, the wet knitwear dripping in his clenched fists.

 

 

The feast had passed swiftly, with numerous succulent courses being delivered and devoured in succession, interspersed with lively conversation, tributes, toasts and libations.  Now light danced across the room as the swirling pinpoints of brilliance in the air mirrored the twirling patterns of the dancers slowly taking to the floor of the Civic Hall below.

Remembering her less than satisfying breakfast, Tegan had at first been dubious of the Serenite fare arrayed before her, hesitantly sniffing at each morsel until a smiling Suren seated himself next to her and promised to point out anything remotely fungal for her to avoid.  She had gratefully accepted his help; the medic continued to provide charming and pleasantly distracting company, allaying her initial discomfort at having the Doctor and Nyssa seated a significant distance away.  Nyssa, of course, had been placed in the position of honour, flanked on one side by Procardinal Jonaris, and on the other by Prime Consul Varden, with the Doctor a few places further away, surrounded by what Suren had described as ‘the higher echelons of the Order’.  Tegan could only imagine at the tediousness of the topics of conversation they were having to endure, however her frequent glances across the room had assured her that at least Nyssa was holding her own.  Not surprising, she thought, when she remembered that as a member of the Traken nobility Nyssa would have been expected to contribute to such discussions from childhood.  Not for the first time that evening, the Australian woman offered up silent thanks for her relatively simple upbringing in the rural idyll of the Outback.     

“May I?”  Suren had risen from his seat and was courteously bowing, extending a hand in her direction.  Tegan looked up at him, and then at the dancers before her who seemed to be arranging themselves into unfathomable geometric shapes.

“Erm, I’m not sure I know this one...” she said, unsurely.  She looked uncertainly in the direction of her friends:  the Doctor was still seated, distractedly listening to whatever Highbishop Fenravic was expounding whilst also periodically scanning the room, presumably for any signs of Adric.  Nyssa had just risen elegantly from her seat and was moving towards the dancefloor with the Procardinal.

“Don’t worry,” laughed Suren, “I am happy to lead.  This is a fairly elementary dance; I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully.” 

Tegan sighed, defeated.  “Well, as Auntie Vanessa used to say, if you can’t beat ‘em...!” and she took the medic’s hand.

 

 

“Ah, there you are Adric.  I was beginning to think you’d never get here…!”

Adric stared at the figure, who was sat on a gnarled log in the middle of the clearing, seemingly engrossed in a dusty old tome cradled in his lap.  The man looked up at him, his face breaking into a wide, toothy grin.  Adric looked down at the scarf in his hands, which now connected him to the figure before him as it crossed the clearing and terminated in a series of confused coils around the man’s neck and shoulders.  Recognition seemed to flow down it, straight from the figure into Adric's tightly clenched fists, where it seared into his nerve endings like a jolt of electricity, cutting through the mist that had enshrouded his mind.

“Doctor!” he breathed, relief washing over him. “I - I thought you were dead!”

“Oh, I _am_ , my dear boy.”  The Doctor grinned.  “Quite dead.  Dead as the proverbial doornail, I’m afraid.  Jelly baby?”

Adric took a sweet from the proffered paper bag and examined it, frowning.  “But how can you be here?”

“I’m a Time Lord, Adric!” the Doctor exclaimed.  “In many ways I am alive and dead at the same time.”  He looked back down at the large, leatherbound book in his hands, frowning as he turned a time-worn page.  “I’m just updating the Time Logs.  Been meaning to do it for years, but I never seem to get round to it…”  He turned another page before looking up at the confused boy before him.  “Perhaps you can help!  I wonder, Adric... could you tell me exactly where we are?”

“We’re on Alzarius of course, Doctor... but how–”

“Alzarius?” the curly-haired Time Lord interrupted, “Oh no, I don’t think so.”  He sniffed the air, and looked up to the heavens.  “Yes, definitely N-Space.  E-Space has much more of a greenish tinge... no, this feels more like somewhere in the Mettula Orionsis cluster, don’t you think?”

Adric sat down, staring at the jelly baby in confusion.  “I think... I…”  He sighed, and popped the sweet in his mouth.  “Thinking is a bit difficult at the moment, Doctor.”

“Well, yes,” the Doctor mused.  “That’s not surprising, given the amount of chemicals currently coursing their way through your bloodstream.”

“Chemicals?” exclaimed Adric, looking at his former mentor in shock.  “What do you mean?”

“Chemicals, Adric!  Come on, you were always a bright boy.  Medication!  Narcotics!”  The Doctor smiled.  “Why else do you think you’re sat in the middle of a forest eating jelly babies with a dead man?”

“I... I don’t…”  Adric shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.  “But - why?”

The Doctor leaned forward conspiratorially, putting his hand around the Alzarian boy’s shoulder.  “They’re _using_ you Adric.  Twisting your mind to their own purposes.  Of course they didn’t have time to talk you round, so they’ve taken a short cut... pumped you full of chemicals to break down your resolve and bend you to their will.”  The Time Lord paused for breath, looking over his shoulder warily as unfamiliar creatures chattered in the branches above them.  “Unfortunately they couldn’t possibly be aware of the havoc they’re wreaking on your alien biology... they thought they were just giving you a little nudge in the right direction, like - do you remember the Source Manipulator?  On Traken?”

Adric frowned.  “Traken…”

“Yes, that’s it!  Well, a little manipulation in the right direction and the Source was capable of astonishing, awe-inspiring feats.  A push in the _wrong_ direction, however, and you have a catastrophe on your hands…”  The Doctor paused, pouting.

“Like... like with Melkur?”  Adric asked.

“Yes!  Melkur - or rather, the Master - accessed the Source Manipulator for his own evil ends, and nearly destroyed the whole Traken Union in the process.  And that’s what they’re doing to you, my boy, but unfortunately they have no idea about Alzarian physiology, and so they’re pushing you in directions they can’t possibly fathom…”

“The Master?”  Adric tensed suddenly at the Doctor’s words, twitching as phantom pains shot through his body like the searing energy of a hadron power line.

“The Master, yes…” mused the Doctor, lost in his own thoughts.  “Do you know, I still can’t work out how he finally got the better of me.”  He shook his head, scowling.  “And now he’s waltzing round the universe, wearing poor old Tremas’s body like an overcoat, free to cause misery and destruction wherever he likes…”

Thunder rumbled overhead, and a flock of birds burst from the trees above them, shrieking a high-pitched alarm.  Adric’s grip on the scarf tightened, the knitwear taut between his fists.  “Tremas…” he whispered, his eyes narrowing.

The Doctor closed his Time Log and looked at the sky warily.  “Tremas, yes.  You remember - Nyssa’s father.”

“N-Nyssa!”  Adric gasped.  He looked down at his white, shaking fists, and the scarf clenched within them.  He could hear the Doctor continuing to mutter to himself, but the meaning began to elude him as thoughts of the Trakenite girl rose in his subconscious, and blood began to pound in his ears.  

“ _You must_ _kill the Goddess…”_

 _“_ Adric?”

_“KILL the Goddess…”_

_“_ Adric?  What are you doing?”

“ _KILL!”_

The scarf ripped apart.  Adric screamed.

 

 

The music began with a complex flourish of lutes, as Suren took the hands of his reluctant partner and led her into the dance.  Tegan’s unease quickly settled under the medic’s guiding touch as he moved her around and between the other dancers in what seemed like an incomprehensible pattern, and it wasn’t long before she began to relax into the rhythm.  Suren smiled as he felt her tension ease.

“There, you see?  You’re a natural!”  He laughed, spinning her towards the far end of the interweaving pattern of dancers.      

Tegan chuckled.  “I’ll have to take your word for that...”  She sank into a low curtsey to match Suren’s bow, before he circled her along an intricate path towards the opposite end of the floor, where they paused for a moment and caught their breath.  “Just don’t let go of me!” she panted.

As they waited for the dance to circle around and absorb them once more, they were joined by another pair of dancers.

“How does this compare to the Charleston?” asked a familiar voice.

“Nyssa!  I mean - my Lady!” Tegan gasped, turning to find her Trakenite friend stood next to her, accompanied by a heavily sweating Procardinal Jonaris.  “Well, when you said dancing on Traken was much more formal and complex than Earth you weren’t kidding, were you?”

Nyssa looked at Suren, and they both laughed in unison.

“Alright, what’s so funny?” Tegan demanded, hands on hips.

“This is the first dance our children learn at school,” Suren replied, smiling.  “Every four year old on Serenity can perform it.”

“Great!” snorted Tegan, “So I can’t do a dance that kids barely out of nappies can master?  Well, if you think I’m doing anything more complicated than this then - whoa!”  

Nyssa laughed as Suren whirled his partner back into the dance at their appointed place.  

“Your Handmaiden is certainly very forthright in her opinions,” said Jonaris, raising his eyebrows.

“You have no idea...” replied Nyssa.  “Are you ready to enter the fray again, Procardinal?  I believe our turn is nearly upon us.”

Jonaris wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief.  “Of course, my Lady.  Although I regret, my breath is not as sound as it once was.”  He cleared his throat.  “I, er... I do hope you will forgive me for the... ah... ‘unpleasantness‘ in the Sanctum last night.  We have had a number of pretenders over the years, and I confess I have become rather cynical in my old age...”

“It is of no concern, Procardinal,” Nyssa replied graciously.  “I am sure your intentions were noble, and of course that you acted in the best interests of the people of Serenity.”

Jonaris bowed his head.  “You are too kind, my Lady.  And I can assure you you have my full and unswerving support for the entirety of your presence here.”  He took her hand in readiness for rejoining the dance.  “Just out of interest, do you have an expectation as to how long that might be?” he queried, nonchalantly.

“May I?”  

Nyssa was relieved to hear a familiar voice interject into their conversation.

“You look worn out, Procardinal.  I’m sure you won’t mind if I take over from here!”  The Doctor took his companion’s hand, and whirled her back into the dance at exactly the right point, leaving a speechless Jonaris spluttering in their wake.

Nyssa gasped, smiling.  “Do you even know this dance, Doctor?”  

The Time Lord expertly guided her through the throng of dancers.  “Well, I’ve been watching for a couple of minutes, so I think I’ve managed to grasp the basics.  It seems to me to be your basic wheeling tetrakaidecagon, with staged intersections at opposing vertices.  Child’s play, really.”

Nyssa laughed breathlessly, as they span across the floor.  “You never cease to amaze me, Doctor!”

The Doctor grinned down at her.  “Well, I aim to please!  What was Jonaris talking to you about?”

“He wanted to know how long I planned to stay.  I’m glad you interrupted as it happens, as I really don’t know what my answer would have been.”

The Doctor scanned the dancefloor.  “Well, once we find Adric then I’m sure things will become a lot clearer, one way or the other.”

“I’m not so sure of that, Doctor.”  Nyssa frowned.  “The malice I sensed in Jonaris in the Sanctum hasn’t fully abated, I feel.  He’s pledged his full support, but I don’t trust him.”

“No,” said the Doctor, distractedly looking into the crowd as they crossed the floor once more.  “Neither do I.”

Nyssa followed his gaze.  “What is it, Doctor?  Is it Adric?”

“Unfortunately not.”  The music reached a crescendo as the Doctor and Nyssa span together in the centre of the formation, before ending in a graceful bow and curtsey.  The assembled audience erupted into applause.

“Just someone I want to speak to, that’s all.”  He nodded in the direction of Prime Consul Varden, who stood at the edge of the dance floor, watching them intently.  “Shall we?”

          

 

Adric was in darkness.  He trudged on blindly, splashing through fetid pools of water as his hands scraped along dirty, moss-covered walls.  The air around him was moist and heavy, but rather than the rich organic smells of the marsh, the underlying scent conveyed only the rankness of death and decay.  Alzarius was gone, dissolved in the mist of his visceral rage.  Now there was only the dark,  the unending pathways of hell, and the whispering voice exhorting him ever onwards.  

 

 

“Keep back!”

“ _Where is she?”_

_“Lady - hear us, please!”_

“Keep back, I say!  You there!  Stop pushing!”

_“Bring out the Goddess!”_

Foster Novak held his energy rifle like a staff and heaved, sweat breaking out under his helmet, mingling with the rain pouring down his face as he drove the citizens before him back once more.  He took a moment’s respite and wiped his brow, turning to his colleague.

“We can’t keep this up much longer,” he panted.  “Has anyone called for reinforcements?”

“It wouldn‘t do much good–” his companion grunted, shoving the man before him back into line, “–it looks like the whole city’s turned out... a few more Fosters aren’t going to make any difference!”

Novak stepped back, and looked out over the Civic Square.  It was a sea of people, filling the plaza completely, with seemingly unending tributary streams spilling from adjoining streets and alleyways to join the heaving throng.  Waves rippled through the crowd as newcomers pushed their way forwards, until the swell broke on the steps of the Hall against the thin line of armed Fosters.  Shouts and screams joined with the drumming of the driving rain to create a cacophony of noise.

“It’s after curfew!  Go back to your homes!”

_“Lady, please!  My family is starving!”_

“ _Help us!”_    

Foster Novak wiped his brow.  “Well we can’t take much more of this.  The way this crowd is growing, lives will be lost if we’re not careful.”  He backed away up the stone steps.  “I’m going to get help.”

“We need more than help, Novak!”  His colleague turned back to the fray, locking arms with a red-faced citizen as he shouted over his shoulder.  “We need a miracle!”  

 

 

The crowds parted as Nyssa and the Doctor left the dance floor; on one side the withdrawal marked with respectful bows and signs of homage, whilst the other portion of the assembly seemed to back away in something more akin to fear.  The Doctor looked up to the ceiling in exasperation as people skittered out of his path.

“My Lady... my Lord Herald.”  Prime Consul Varden greeted them with a deferential nod.  “I trust you are enjoying our festivities?”

“Very much so, thank you Prime Consul,” replied Nyssa.  “It is indeed a fitting welcome home.”

“And rather in contrast to our initial welcome, don’t you think?” the Doctor observed, before swiftly pointing up at the glowing points of light above their heads.  “Is this a representation of your sector of the galaxy?”

Varden smiled.  “It is indeed, Doctor.  Each point of light represents a star in our immediate locality.  They are programmed to interact under the same physical forces as their celestial counterparts, to wheel and turn in the same heavenly dance.”

“Beautiful...” breathed Nyssa.  She scanned the display for a moment, before pointing to a small cluster of lights spinning not far from where they stood.  “If I’m not mistaken, that’s Serenity’s system, isn’t it?”

“Quite correct, my Lady,” the Prime Consul affirmed.  “That is indeed our allotted place in the Heavens.  You can see there our solitary star, poised on the edge of a vast sea of blackness.”  

“The entropy field...” murmured Nyssa.  “The void where Traken once existed.  It looks just as it did when Adric and I saw it happen from the TARDIS.”  Her face was pale yet serene in the ethereal light, barely betraying the pain of the events which, for her, were all too recent.

Varden glanced from Nyssa to the Doctor, who stared upwards at the display, a frown marring his youthful face.

“My apologies, Doctor.  This is meant to be a happy occasion, and I didn’t mean to bring up your role in events once again.”  The Prime Consul bowed in contrition.  “Please forgive me.”

The Doctor tore his gaze from the wheeling spectacle above him.  “Yes, well, I think we covered that in enough detail last night.  Now, on the subject of Adric, have your men got any further in locating him?”

Varden checked the device at his wrist.  “I’m afraid not, Doctor.  Although I do still have a number of Fosters investigating your friend’s disappearance, they have had little success as yet.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll let me know as soon as they turn anything up.”  The Doctor smiled.  “Tell me, Prime Consul - what do you know of the ‘Grey Order’?”

“The ‘Grey Order’?”  Varden stroked his beard.  “I haven’t heard anything of them in a long time.  They were a faction of the Order, I believe, created shortly after its inception, to maintain and preserve our remaining high technology.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows.  “Preservation and maintenance of technology?  That doesn’t sound very consistent with what I’ve heard of the Order.”

“Preservation, maintenance... and _control_.  The early years following the Darkness were quite brutal, Doctor.  The Order couldn’t risk such technology falling into the hands of their enemies, nor could they risk destroying it, and losing their only advantage.  So a proportion of the brotherhood was invested with its care.”

“And what happened to them?” asked the Doctor.

“Well, as I recall, when all opposition to the Order was eliminated, the Grey faction was no longer required.  Their monopoly of the knowledge around certain technologies made them dangerous, so they were... ‘disbanded’.”

“And by ‘disbanded’ you mean...”

“Slaughtered, yes.”  Varden shrugged.  “As I said, brutal times.  But all this is ancient history, Doctor - what relevance could there be to your missing friend?”

“Oh, nothing really.”  The Doctor looked across the room, to where the dance floor was now occupied by a variety of tumblers, fire-eaters and jugglers.  “I had heard that the Grey Order held certain beliefs, and that Adric may have somehow become associated with those beliefs.  But if, as you say, they are no more, then that can’t be right, can it?”  He turned and smiled at the Serenite leader.   

“I fear you have been misinformed, Doctor.  However, as I mentioned I still have Fosters investigating the boy’s whereabouts, so I’m sure he will be located, sooner or later.  As of tomorrow morning I shall have more officers at my disposal to aid in the search - unfortunately the vast proportion of my men are currently assigned to the security and crowd control implications of this event.”

Nyssa had been engrossed in the swirling patterns of the lights representing her former home, but now turned her attention back to the Prime Consul.  “‘Crowd control’?” she queried.  “I hope there hasn’t been any trouble?”

“Who’s in trouble?” Tegan asked, as she and Suren joined them, drinks in hand.  “Is it that juggler?  ‘Cause he’s got _way_ too many balls in the air, if you ask me...!” she laughed.    

“Prime Consul?”  Nyssa demanded.

“My Lady,” replied Varden, smiling - “rest assured, it is nothing my Fosters cannot handle.”

Nyssa’s concerns were unassuaged.  “But why?  Why should there be unrest?”

Varden sighed.  “Regrettably, my Lady, this is not the Serenity of the Union.  We have no Source to provide for us.  No Keeper to ensure the peace, to guarantee a bountiful harvest and keep our children’s bellies full.  Since the Darkness we have been striving towards the light, but sometimes...”

“Sometimes what?” asked Tegan, suspiciously.

“Sometimes crops fail.  Sometimes there isn’t enough to go around.” The Prime Consul shrugged.  “Sometimes good intentions aren’t enough, when your children are hungry.”

“‘ _Hungry?’_ ”  Nyssa gasped.  “But... but what about this feast?”  She indicated the tables around the room, still strewn with copious amounts of food and drink.  “There’s more food here than we could possibly eat!  How can the citizens be hungry?”

The Prime Consul raised his eyebrows.  “Well, I didn’t have a hand in organising tonight’s festivities... but I believe all the provisions were donated by the populace.”

“‘ _Donated’_?” gasped Nyssa, a look of horror developing on her face.  

Suren stepped forward.  “They give willingly, my Lady.  They would give anything to honour you–”

“But that’s not _all_ they give, is it?” interrupted Tegan.  “I’m sorry, Nyssa, but you’ve got a right to know what’s going on here.  Suren told me the citizens have to pay a ‘Duty’ to the Order too.  I’ve been out there - these poor people have nothing, living in ramshackle houses while this lot enjoy all this luxury!  It’s obscene, it really–”

“Tegan.”  The Doctor stopped her in mid-tirade.  

Nyssa was backing away, shaking her head as she took in the opulence of the room once more through new, tear-filled eyes.  Covering her mouth in horror, she turned and ran.

Tegan immediately started after her, only to be held back by the Doctor’s hand on her arm.

“Leave her for a moment, Tegan,” he sighed.  “She’s got a lot to think about.”

 

 

The relative peace of the Civic Gardens was momentarily disturbed as Nyssa burst through a set of doors, sending them crashing against the wall as she ran out onto the covered terrace beyond, the train of her platinum gown trailing wildly behind her.  She came to a halt at a stone balustrade, gasping for breath as she leaned against its ivy-covered rail.  

The garden beyond was dark and deserted, its ornamental walkways and lush borders besieged by the driving rain that permeated the night air.  The tears that had Nyssa had struggled to hold back in the Civic Hall now began to flow freely, joining the raindrops straying onto the stone floor at her feet.  Screwing her eyes shut, she tried to hold back the emotions building inside her, but all she could see in the darkness were the pleading faces of Serenite children, crying in hunger and desperation as they reached out to her....  

“Come on, Nyssa,” she angrily berated herself, shaking her head and swiping at the tears on her flushed cheeks.  “Pull yourself together.  This isn’t like you.”  She clenched her fists in frustration at her increasing inability to control her feelings.  Why was this happening to her now?  In recent weeks she had been through more anguish than anyone at her young age should have to bear, and yet she had managed to get through it all with the regal composure and cool, logical thinking that her upbringing on Traken had given her.  Since coming to Serenity, however, her scientific outlook seemed to have deserted her, and it was all she could do to keep from falling apart.

Nyssa inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, letting the petrichor-scented cool night air wash over her in an attempt to regain her self-control.  The night seemed silent, save for the pattering of the rain on the terrace roof.  At first, her breath was the only discernible sound to break the stillness; after a few moments, however, she gradually became aware of further noises - a low undercurrent beneath the rhythmic drumbeat of the rain, too quiet at first to register.  As her breathing quietened, she began to make out murmured conversation and laughter drifting from the open doors behind her, the faint sounds of the Serenite elite enjoying the ongoing feast in her absence.  Tentative chirps and whistles punctuated the night as avians called to each other from their sheltered perches within the trees.  And beyond that...               

The Trakenite frowned, closing her eyes as her hearing adjusted to the quiet, she strained to make out the faint sound beneath all the others.  It seemed further off than the rest, and more constant - so much so that it had slipped beneath her perception.  A low rumbling, like the grumbling of herd animals on the move.  As she continued to listen, she began to make out individual sounds punctuating the background melee - shouts, cries, voices raised in anger... and screaming.  

“The citizens...” she murmured under her breath, as she stared out into the darkness once more, her gaze unfocussed.  “The citizens of Serenity are stirring.”  Nyssa let the sounds of the Serenite people wash over her, their voices echoing the desperate emotions she had sensed from them earlier.  She felt an overwhelming desire to reach out to them, to help them in some way, in whatever way she could.

“But what can I do?”  She sighed, clenching her fists in impotent rage.  “I’m just one person.  The Source, the Keeper... they’re all gone, and the power to heal this world has gone with them.”  Her tears began to flow once more.  “I’m not a goddess!” she cried out into the darkness.  “I... I have nothing to give.”

Her thoughts dwelled on the Keeper, and the power that he bequeathed, in vain, to her father.  With the limitless energy of the Source at his command, the plight of the people of Serenity would have been a trifling matter to resolve.  In the space of a heartbeat he could have communed with every mind within the Union, evaluated the entire situation at a quantum level, and marshalled the vast resources at his disposal to restore a harmonious equilibrium.  

‘Well,’ Nyssa thought, regathering her composure, ‘Source or no Source, there is at least _one_ part of that duty that I can fulfil.’      

 

 

“Right, that’s it!” announced Tegan.  “She’s had long enough.  I’m going after her.”

The feast celebrations had continued on unabated despite the absence of the guest of honour, however Tegan’s patience had very quickly come to an abrupt end.  She turned in the direction that Nyssa had fled.  

“Tegan, wait!” called the Doctor, grabbing his Australian companion’s arm before she moved out of reach.  “Just leave her a little longer, please.  Remember there’s a lot at stake for Nyssa here, and we can’t interfere with her choices, no matter how much we want to help.  She has to think it through for herself.”

Tegan turned on him, her face obstinate.  “Listen Doc, _you_ might have changed your tune about ‘interfering’ since you got here, but _I_ haven’t.  And given some of the crazy stuff that’s gone on here since we arrived, I think a bit of good old-fashioned interference is just what’s needed.  Now Nyssa’s upset, and I’m going after her, and nothing you can do or say is going to stop me.”

“ _Tegan–”_

“Besides,” she interrupted, “ _you_ said we shouldn’t leave her alone.”

The Doctor held up his hands in surrender.  “Alright!  Then we’ll _both_ go.”

“And what about Adric?” asked Tegan.  She leaned in closer to the Time Lord, lowering her voice.  “These mystery men of yours are supposed to bring him back at some point tonight, remember?  What if you’re not here when they turn up?”

The Time Lord grimaced in frustration.  If there was one thing about Tegan that irritated him especially, it was when she was _right_.  “Very well, Tegan.  Go and find her.  But just be careful.”

Suren stepped forward.  “I’ll go with her, Doctor.  Just in case.”

“Great,” said Tegan.  “Come on then!”  She turned to the Doctor.  “We’ll be back before you know it.”  She smiled, then hurried off with Suren as fast as her full, flowing skirt would allow.

“Your friend appears to be a remarkably forthright young lady,” opined Prime Consul Varden, “It must make for an interesting dynamic.” 

The Doctor sighed resignedly, shaking his head.  “You have no idea...”

Lightening flashed across the sky, momentarily illuminating the rain-soaked civic gardens and banishing the monochromatic night in a burst of colour.  On the terrace, Nyssa closed her eyes against the brightness, the shadowy images of trees and sky lingering on in ghostly hues behind her eyelids.  She took a deep breath and turned her focus inward, withdrawing deep down into her psyche to where her subconscious self sat cross-legged, protected from the emotional maelstrom surrounding her by an all-encompassing wall.  

Getting to her feet, Nyssa moved to where the wall stood, running her fingers along its robust stones, feeling the strength imbued within its mortar.  She stopped, placing her hands flat against the surface of the barricade that she and the Doctor had built together, and took a deep breath.

Then she closed her eyes... and _pushed._

 

 

“–And in trying to get her back to Heathrow I’ve shown her a few of the wonders of the universe on the way, so you’d think she’d be grateful, wouldn’t you?  But apparently not.”  The Doctor shook his head in exasperation.  “Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever understand Earthlings...”

“The impetuosity of youth.”  Varden drained his drink and nodded sympathetically.  “It is a powerful thing, Doctor - almost like a force of nature, and just as difficult to control.  I find–”  The Prime Consul broke off, his attention distracted by the beeping of the device at his wrist.  

“Trouble?”  The Doctor queried.

Varden tapped a few keys before responding.  “Just someone reporting in, nothing to be concerned about.”

“I fear _this_ might be, though,” the Doctor replied, nodding in the direction of a red-faced Foster Novak running through the crowd towards them.

“Prime Consul!”  Novak bowed, trying to calm his laboured breathing in the motion.

“Foster Novak,” replied Varden coolly. “Is something the matter?”

“Forgive me, my Lord... I was looking for Proctor Morovan–”

“I am afraid the Proctor is busy elsewhere; you will report to me instead.” 

“The citizens, my Lord,” the Foster panted.  “They are crowding the Square.  There are thousands of them, my Lord, and more arrive every minute!  We have tried to contain them, but–”  Novak stopped, his breath failing.

“But what?”

The Foster took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow.  “The line is failing, my Lord.  Any minute now, and they’ll have broken through!”

 

 

“She must have come this way,” panted Suren, as he and Tegan jogged around a corner.  “The other way leads to the kitchens.”

“What’s through there?” asked Tegan, indicating a set of double doors.

“Outside, I think.  There’s a terrace, and gardens–”  He paused as the sound of thunder rumbled from the direction of the doors.  “It doesn’t sound like the ideal time for a stroll through the greenery, however.”

Tegan took his arm.  “Come on - let’s take a look, just to be sure.”  They pushed through the doors, emerging out into the damp night air.  

The terrace was unlit, and seemed deserted.  Tegan looked out into the rain-soaked garden.  The downpour continued unabated, pouring from trees and bushes and cascading from the edge of the terrace roof in innumerable rivulets.  “Well, she’d have to be out of her mind to go wandering around in that,” she said glumly.  “Let’s go try the kitchens.”  

A flash of lightening momentarily illuminated the terrace as they turned to leave, closely followed by a sharp clap of thunder.  Tegan stifled a gasp.

“It’s alright,” Suren soothed, tentatively putting his hand on her shoulder - “It’s only thunder.  Do you have thunder on Earth?”

Tegan looked at him in exasperation.  “Of course we do, you prawn!” she retorted.  “It wasn’t that - look over there!” She pointed to the furthest recess of the terrace, where a lone figure stood, barely visible in the gloom.  

 

 

The Doctor stepped forward to question Foster Novak.  “And what do the citizens want?”

Novak’s eyes nervously flicked to the Time Lord.  “They... er... they are hungry, my Lord Herald... and now the Lady is here, they look to her to–”

“To make everything right,” the Doctor finished, frowning.  “And when she can’t, things are bound to turn nasty very quickly.”

“Their intent is irrelevant, Doctor,” Varden growled dismissively.  “They are out of control, and must be brought back into line.  But first, we must safeguard our position.”  He turned to Novak - “Have the men fall back, and secure the perimeter of the building.  Lock down all entrances and exits immediately.  No-one is to get in, or out.  Weapons to stun.  Hold your positions until instructed further.”

“At once, my Lord.”  Foster Novak bowed, then hastened towards the exit.  The Prime Consul began tapping furiously at the device on his wrist.

“Wait a minute,” said the Doctor, “What about Nyssa?  She might be out there!  You can’t just shut her out!”

Varden barely looked up.  “Then I suggest you go and find her, Doctor... and _quickly.”_

 

 

“Nyssa?” Tegan called tentatively, “Nyssa, is that you?”  The figure remained silent, and motionless as a statue.  Tegan took a tentative step forward, then broke into a run as a further flash of lightening briefly banished the darkness to reveal the detail of her Trakenite friend.  The accompanying thunder cracked sharply overhead as she reached her.

“Nyssa!  Hey, are you alright?”  The girl stood stock still, facing the rain-soaked garden, her hands tightly grasping the stone balustrade.  Tegan touched her arm, but Nyssa didn’t respond.  Suren joined them, looking into Nyssa’s face with concern.  Her eyes were closed, her features locked into a frown; the muscles in her jaw and neck were strained taut with effort, and her skin shone with perspiration.  The medic shook her shoulder gently.

“My Lady?  Can you hear me?”

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Tegan, concerned.  

Suren checked Nyssa’s pulse and breathing.  He gently opened her eyelids to examine her pupils, only to find her eyes rolled towards the back her head.  “I’m not sure,” he said, “It’s like she’s in some kind of trance, but her entire body is tensed, almost as if she’s fighting against something.  But it’s not anything physical, not that I can see, anyway.”

Tegan tensed.  “We’d better get her inside,” she said, hurriedly.

Suren carried on his examination.  “Wait, let me just check–”

“No - we need to get her inside,” said Tegan firmly, “ _Now!_ ”

“What’s the hurry?”  The medic looked at her, confused. 

“Unless... _umph…_ ” Tegan started to pull at Nyssa’s arm, but her hand remained resolutely attached to the stonework.  “Unless you want to deal with _them_!”

Suren looked up, following Tegan’s line of sight.  In the distance, he began to make out figures approaching from the gloom of the garden.  At first he could only discern a few isolated forms emerging through the driving rain, their shoulders hunched against the downpour, heads concealed by sodden hoods.  As he watched, more and more figures joined them, their movements becoming more urgent as something beyond them seemed to drive them forward.

“The citizens…” he breathed, “They must have gathered to see the Lady.  But why are they in the gardens?”

“I’m not going to hang around and ask them,” replied Tegan, “From what I can make out they don’t look too happy!”  The sound of laser rifles being discharged in the near distance accentuated her point, as the gathering citizens broke into a run towards them, voices raised in anger.

“Ah, yes, I think you might be right.  I’ll get the door!”  Suren ran to the entrance they had passed through only minutes before.

“Nyssa?” cried Tegan, pulling at the girl’s arm, “Come _on!_   Snap out of it - we’ve got to get out of here!”  

Suren tugged at the door handles.  “Er, Tegan - I think we may have a problem here.”  He rattled the handles with a bit more vigour, but the doors refused to budge.  “The doors are locked!”

“What?!” Tegan looked up from trying to pry Nyssa’s fingers from their grip around the balustrade.  “You’ve got to be kidding!  They’ll be here any second!”  She ran to the doors, and joined Suren in frantically pulling at the handles.  “Hello?” Tegan hammered on the reinforced glass.  “Is there anyone there?  Can anyone hear me?”

“It’s no good, Tegan,”  Suren cried, turning to face the oncoming crowd.  “There’s no way out!  We're trapped!”

 


	10. Graduation Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events take a turn for the worse on Serenity as the gathering crowds of angry citizens close in on the Civic Centre, loyalties are tested, and secrets are revealed...

**Chapter 10 - Graduation Day**  

 

“Where is the Herald rushing off to?”  Procardinal Jonaris enquired, expertly balancing a full plate of food and a goblet of wine as he approached Prime Consul Varden.  “ _Alone?”_

Varden looked up from his communicator.  “It’s none of your concern, Procardinal,” he growled dismissively, eyeing the cleric’s plate.  “The citizens are taking to the streets.  But don’t let it spoil your appetite.”  Varden turned to leave, then hesitated.  “Where is Proctor Morovan by the way?  Off on another of your little ‘errands’?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jonaris spluttered, “and I have no idea where he is.  He’s _your_ subordinate.”

“Really?” Varden scoffed.  “Sometimes I wonder.  No matter, I’ll find him.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to.  Ensuring our future, for one.”

“Are we in danger?” asked Jonaris, eyeing the doors warily.

“Not yet,” replied Varden, as he turned away - “Although you may wish to retire to a more secure area.  The Consular Chamber upstairs, perhaps?”

Jonaris watched the Prime Consul as he moved off through the room, giving discreet but hurried orders to the nearest Fosters.  The cleric looked around for his own staff.  “Fenravic?  _Fenravic!_ ”

The Highbishop quickly appeared at the Procardinal’s side.  “My Lord?”

“Gather my bodyguard.  There’s trouble outside - the citizens are roused.  We’re moving upstairs.”  Jonaris raised his goblet to his lips, his narrowed eyes focussed on Varden’s retreating form as he took a hefty swig.  “And Fenravic?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Activate the remaining Novices.  It’s Graduation Day.”

 

 

“So no-one’s been through here in the last ten minutes?  A young woman perhaps, with long, curly hair?  Or a shorter-haired woman, with a man?” 

The kitchen staff shook their heads quickly in response to the question, their faces visibly terror-stricken at being interrogated by the infamous Herald.  The Doctor sighed in exasperation.  “Must have been the other turning then.”  He spun back towards the exit, shouting over his shoulder as he left: “I’d find somewhere safe if I were you, there’s trouble brewing outside!”

The Time Lord shook his head as he ran back down the corridor.  “Well,” he muttered to himself, “that’s not going to do anything for my reputation…!”

 

 

“What are we going to do?” cried Tegan, as she continued to desperately rattle the unforgiving doors.  Turning to Suren, she looked over his shoulder at the ever-nearing crowd running towards them through the darkness and rain.  “It won’t open!  And they’re nearly here!”

The medic looked to where Nyssa stood, still frozen statue-like against the balustrade, then beyond her as a brief flash of lightening illuminated the citizens beyond.   

“You stay here with the Lady,” he said, taking a deep breath - “I’ll distract them.  Try to draw them off.”

“Are you crazy?” Tegan cried.  “There’s hundreds of them!  They might tear you to pieces!”

Suren hesitated for a split second, then set his jaw in determination and moved closer to her.  “Well then, if these are my last moments on Serenity, I’d better make them count…”  and with that, he took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately.  Tegan’s eyes opened wide in shock for a moment, before she closed them, wrapping her arms around him and sinking into the kiss with as much fervour as it was delivered.  For a few short seconds they were oblivious to everything - the thunder rolling overhead, the ever-nearing crowd, and the sound of the doors opening behind them…

“Ah - I do hope I’m not interrupting anything?” 

 

 

“Stop - just wait here, one moment.”  

At the sound of the whispering voice Adric came to a halt.  They had arrived at the end of a darkened tunnel, the way sealed off by a mould-covered, heavy wooden door.  Warm light blazed from the gap beneath, indicating an occupied space beyond.  Adric’s pupils constricted violently after what had seemed an eternity trudging through the darkness, and he raised his hands to his eyes.  He was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and shining with perspiration.

His grey-clad companion opened the door slowly, carefully easing the time-worn hinges open so as not to cause a sound in the room beyond.  He disappeared briefly, leaving Adric swaying, his fists clenching and unclenching periodically.  After a few moments Byrnus returned.

“This way, Adric.  Not much further now.”

They passed through the door into a large, dimly-lit cellar beyond.  Before them stood numerous rows of people, all identically clad in the white robes of the Order.  They faced the far end of the long, low chamber, backs to the recently-arrived pair, their attention seemingly focussed on the large set of double doors at the other end.  Byrnus turned to the boy at his side, and took him by the shoulders.

“This is where I must leave you, Adric,” he whispered.  

The boy’s eyes flickered, unfocussed.  

The older man frowned, and shook him gently.  “Adric!  Remember your purpose here!” he hissed.  Adric’s eyes locked with his.  “Follow the acolytes.  Concentrate.”  Byrnus looked deep into the boy’s eyes, seeking some small iota of understanding, a spark of recognition to reassure him that his whole life’s work was not about to crumble around him into dust.  He found nothing.

Sighing, he took Adric’s face into his hands.  “I have lived my whole life according to the principles of science and logic, and they have never let me down.  Logic dictates, that constant shall remain.”  He smiled at the boy, and gently brushed the sweat-soaked hair from his eyes.  “I have faith in you, my brother.  When the time comes, you will know what to do.  Good luck.”

Byrnus turned and quietly exited through the door they had entered by.  Adric stood at the back of the group of acolytes, quietly murmuring to himself.

“Br… brother…?” 

  

    

“Doctor!” cried Tegan, looking in astonishment to where the Time Lord stood, his head poking through the previously locked doors.  “Am I glad to see you!”

“Ah, yes…. so I see.”

The Doctor looked at the two of them, then quickly cast his gaze around the terrace and into the gardens beyond, swiftly assessing the situation whilst Tegan and Suren hastily separated.  “Good - you’ve found Nyssa.  Now shall we get back inside before your friends over there arrive?”

“That’s the problem,” cried Tegan, raising her voice as the shouts of the rapidly-nearing crowd grew louder.  “She won’t move!  It’s like she’s frozen to the spot!”

“What?”  The Doctor moved to where his younger companion stood, hands rigidly clamped on the stone balustrade.  “No physical injury that I can make out,” he muttered, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake.  “Nyssa?  Nyssa!  Wake up!”

“We’ve tried that, Doctor, it’s no good!  It’s like she’s in a trance or something!”

“Yes…”  the Doctor mused.  “It could be a psychic overload - something’s been boosting her latent telepathic sensitivity ever since we arrived.  I’ll have to try a mental link.”

“There’s no time for that!” Tegan cried, “They’re almost here!”

Suren stepped forward, taking off his jacket and tie.  “Right,” he said, “Time for ‘Plan B’…!”  Before Tegan could stop him he jumped over the balustrade, and began to run towards the oncoming citizens.

“Suren!  No!” Tegan shouted.  

The medic looked back over his shoulder.  “Get out of here!  Stay with the Lady!  I’ll find you!” he called, then turned and sprinted on towards the crowd, waving his arms and shouting:  “ _THIS WAY!  HEY!  FOLLOW ME - THERE’S A WAY IN OVER HERE!_ ”

Tegan took off her shoes, muttering to herself as she hitched up her dress.  “Flaming idiot!  Why am I constantly surrounded by men with a death wish?”  She started to mount the stone railing, but found herself pulled back by firm hands.

“Tegan, no!  You can’t help him - and I need you here!”

“But he’s going to get himself killed!

The Doctor pointed out into the rain-soaked garden.  “No he’s not - _look!_ ”

Tegan squinted out into the darkness.  A brief flash of lightening illuminated the scene, revealing that, by some miracle, the front runners in the crowd had changed direction, and were veering off to the left towards the medic, following him away from the terrace into some unseen part of the grounds, the main host following behind.  “I don’t believe it!  He did it!” she cried in disbelief.

“Yes, well, that’s the easy part,” replied the Doctor - “It’s giving them the slip before they realise you’ve led them on a merry dance, that’s the tricky bit.  Now, help me with Nyssa please.”

“What’s wrong with her, Doc?”

“I don’t know, Tegan.  As I said, I’m going to have to establish telepathic contact with her to find out.”  The Doctor closed his eyes, and took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths.

“So what do you want me to do?” asked Tegan.

The Time Lord carefully arranged his fingers around Nyssa’s temples, before turning back towards his Australian companion.  “Be ready,” he said, then closed his eyes once more.

“Ready for what?!” cried Tegan.

“Cont… _aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!”_

No sooner had the Doctor established his mental link with Nyssa than he cried out in agony, his face contorted in pain but his fingers still inexorably linked to his companion’s pale skin.  

“Doctor!  What’s wrong?”  Tegan rushed to his aid; she stopped short of touching the interlocked pair of aliens, fearful of whatever was telepathically harming them rushing through her like an electric shock seeking the ground.

The Doctor gritted his teeth, visibly trying to fight back against something unseen.  “Too many voices…” he gasped breathlessly, his face shining with sweat.  

“Voices?  What voices?”

“She’s–”  The Doctor fought to get the words out.  “She’s… _ah!_ She’s opened her mind to… to…”

“To what?”  Tegan cried.

“To… to the whole planet!”

“But that’s impossible!” gasped Tegan, incredulously.  

“Not impossible,” the Doctor groaned, “But very unwise… not even a Time Lord brain could cope…. _ah_ … cope with that level of telepathic feedback.”  He broke off, panting.  “I’ve got to shut it off somehow, but I…. I can’t get close enough to - to rebuild her mental defences…. or even just sh-shut down the connection… _aaaahhhhh!”_ He cried out, anguish written across his flushed, perspiration-soaked face. 

“Doctor!” Tegan cried, “What can I do?  How can I help you?” 

The Doctor didn’t reply, all his energy now seemingly entirely focussed on the imperceptible battle he was waging within Nyssa’s psyche.  Tegan felt powerless to help either of them.  She looked around the darkened terrace in desperation, but it was entirely empty, save for the clothes that Suren had discarded before he had left.  

“Rabbits!” she cursed, aiming a vicious kick at the crumpled jacket by her feet.  She frowned as her toe unexpectedly connected with something hard within the heap of fabric.  “What the…?”  Tegan picked up the jacket, searching through the pockets to find the object within.  She smiled as she pulled it out into the scantly lit gloom of the terrace.  “Hold on Doc, I’m coming!”

The Doctor barely registered her voice as he was pulled deeper and deeper into the maelstrom of Nyssa’s psyche, the innumerable voices of the population of Serenity sending his telepathic senses into overload, paralysing his physical form as his muscles spasmed into rigidity under the intense strain.  He tried to extract himself from the turmoil, using every last vestige of his willpower to make the tiniest movement and lift the tips of his fingers the barest nanometre from his companion’s skin, but it was no use - the sheer weight of the countless millions of thoughts centred on their shared mental being was completely overwhelming.  He could feel his vital organs beginning to shut down under the stress, his lungs struggling to expand, and knew it wouldn’t be long until one, or both, of his hearts arrested…

Then suddenly, the mindscape changed: the torrent of noise and emotion becoming almost instantaneously eclipsed by darkness.  He cried out as he felt his mind being violently ripped from his connection with Nyssa’s, then panting, he opened his eyes to find himself back on the terrace, falling painfully to his knees on the cold, damp stone.  He gasped for breath as his synapses fizzed and fought to rebalance.

“Well, that did the trick!”  

The Doctor heard Tegan’s breathless voice close by, and turned to see her sat back on the floor, holding Nyssa’s crumpled form in an awkward embrace.

“Tegan - what did you do?”  The Doctor sat back, rubbing his temples in an effort to calm the pain reverberating around the inside of his skull.

She held up a dull metal object in her hand.  “Hypospray, complete with sedative,” she gasped, out of breath.  “Otherwise known as ‘Plan B’.”  She put the object down, grunting as she shifted her unconscious friend into a more comfortable position.  “She went down like a stone - I was lucky to catch her.”

“And _I’m_ lucky you didn’t rip my mind to shreds,” the Doctor complained, before noting Tegan’s baleful glare in his direction - “But of course you did the right thing, in the circumstances… thank you.”  He was relieved to see her expression soften, as he thankfully avoided a scolding that he wasn’t sure his throbbing head could currently handle.  He moved over to them, tentatively reaching out to check Nyssa’s pulse.  “Breathing and heart rate normal,” he said after a few moments - “At least I think it’s normal, for a Trakenite.  Let’s hope her mental faculties are similarly unimpaired.  Come on,” he grunted, rising to his feet and moving to lift the unconscious girl and release his other companion, “Help me get her inside.”

    

 

The white-garbed acolytes stood silently in their underground chamber, heads bowed in silent reflection.  They numbered in the hundreds, arranged perfectly in countless identical rows, patiently waiting before a set of double doors at one end of the hall.  There was barely a reaction as the doors opened, and a trio of cloaked figures walked in. 

“Here they are,” said Highbishop Fenravic, wringing his hands nervously, “Ready for duty, as ordered by his Holiness.”

Proctor Morovan cast his eyes over the host before him.  “Excellent,” he breathed, “and just in time.  The rabble in the Square has started to break through; we’ll need reinforcements to keep the building secure.”

“But aren’t these novices?” Foster Drevus stepped forward from behind his superior officer, and surveying the robed throng filling the room.  

Morovan raised his eyebrow.  “And?”

“Well, Sir, I appreciate the Order trains each member at some level for ceremonial guard duties, but if these novices are still wet behind the ears from their initiation then they’re not going to be much use as reinforcements for combat-trained Fosters, are they?”

“They’ll do well enough,” growled Morovan.  “The ability to follow orders is all we need, and that’s been ingrained into them from day one.”

“Oh yes,” agreed Fenravic, “They are very compliant.  Allow me to demonstrate.  Er… NOVICES - ATTEND!”

At the Highbishop’s order, the head of every acolyte in the room snapped to attention, their heels clicking together in perfect unison.

“MARK TIME!”

The host immediately began to simultaneously march on the spot, their precisely timed steps ringing out across the chamber.  Proctor Morovan walked back and forth, his experienced eyes scrutinising each file.  He nodded, approvingly.

 _“_ HALT!  And, er… STAND EASY!”The acolytes obeyed, the immediate silence allowing Fenravick’s trembling tones to echo around the room.  

Foster Drevus was clearly taken aback.  “It’s an _army_ …” he breathed, moving closer to the Proctor, who was arching his neck, straining to see something towards the back of the company.  Drevus lowered his voice, out of earshot of the nearby cleric.  “Does the Prime Consul know of this, Sir?  I think–”

“Your job is not to _think_ , Foster, but to _obey!”_ snarled Morovan, turning to face both of them.  “Now, here are your orders.  Highbishop, take a third of this company and report to Foster Novak at the Civic Hall - they are to reinforce the security of the building.  Drevus, you are to take the remaining two thirds outside into the square and gardens to push back the rabble and regain order.  You'll find weaponry upstairs, brought over from the Penal Wing.  Make sure each man is armed.”

 _“_ We’re arming the Order?” spluttered Drevus, “But - but this could mean civil war!”

Morovan grabbed the Foster by his shoulders, pulling him in close until their faces were centimetres apart.  His expression was grave, his voice low, yet earnest.  

“It’s always been coming to this, boy.  All that remains... is to choose the right side.”

 

 

Tegan led the way back to the main hall, opening doors for the Doctor, who carried the unconscious Nyssa in his arms.  Upon entering the hall, Tegan came to a sudden halt, the Doctor barely managing to avoid crashing into her.

“What the–?” he spluttered.

“Is this the same party?” Tegan gasped.  The feast they had left not so long ago had been a civilised affair, with soft music, refined dancing and polite conversation.  The chaotic scene that now greeted them could not have been more different: the dancers had been replaced by armed Fosters, rushing to barricade doors and windows, as the elite of Serenite society ran screaming in panic.  The Doctor took in the chaos for a moment, then hitched up his burden and started forward.

“It appears things have escalated in our absence,” he said, before nodding towards a staircase on the other side of the hall - “Up there, I think.  When in doubt, always best to head towards higher ground.”

They ran across the floor, dodging past fleeing dignitaries in a dance that owed more to chaos theory than their previous, geometrically defined efforts.  At the foot of the stairs they almost collided with Highbishop Fenravick, who was entering the hall from a stairwell below, followed by what appeared to be a large group of white-robed acolytes.

“Ah!” the cleric jumped in shock at the sight of them, clearly perturbed by the scene in the hall.  “My - my Lord Herald, many apologies!”  His eyes widened at the sight of Nyssa, motionless in the Doctor’s arms.  “My Lady!” he gasped, looking back at the Doctor in horror.  “What… what have you done?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes.  “Nothing, Highbishop, I assure you!” he retorted.  “But we must get to safety.  Can you suggest anywhere?”      

“I’ll deal with this, Fenravick.”  Proctor Morovan appeared from the lower stairwell, which was still packed with acolytes, marching into the hall in an orderly fashion in complete contrast to the mayhem surrounding them.  He strode past the Doctor and Tegan, heading purposefully up the stairs.  “The Consular Chamber has been secured - you can tend to the Lady there.  You lot - with me!”  A group of around a dozen acolytes broke off from the main force and arranged themselves behind the Doctor and his party, in a clear indication that there was no choice in the matter.  

The Doctor looked at Tegan.  “An offer we can’t refuse, it seems.  Shall we?”

 

 

Mist swirled in the dim light of a conservatory, stirred into motion by the warm air currents and the wake of a shuffling, hunched figure.  Rain pattered on the glass roof above, the heavy drops breaking the silence in a staccato rhythm.  Every so often the sky beyond the panes was electrified with lightening as the storm continued to rage; the brief but intense illumination causing the benches filled with exotic plantlife arranged around the room to erupt into a glorious mix of bright colours, before returning to the somber monotones of the shadowy space.  

The figure shuffled forwards, dousing the nearest blooms in a spray of fine mist.  The Seer’s breath mask hissed with the effort, as he stopped to caress the petals of a particularly fine orchid.

“Such perfection…” he whispered, the syllables tortured through the mask into an electronic rasp, “but all too brief a life.  It seems an ironic universal constant, I feel, that those called to beauty and glory must all too often sacrifice their longevity in return, whilst the cruel and base enjoy far too lengthy an existence.”  He shuffled further along the row, stopping here and there to remove withered foliage or dying petals.  “There are always exceptions to such constants, I suppose,” he muttered to himself.  “Life tends to find a way… the Keeper, being a most pertinent example of altruistic longevity!  Such power, and all selflessly devoted to the wellbeing of others…”  The Seer shook his head, a wry chuckle bursting through the mask in a burst of static.  “Not powerful enough to save the billions of lives in his care though, was he?”

The old figure hobbled on, orchids giving way to another species not unlike the roses that bloomed on Earth and other human colonies throughout the galaxy.  He swapped the spray bottle for a pair of secateurs. 

“Of course, if we’re talking longevity, then one must also take species such as the Time Lords into account… another race with almost limitless powers at their fingertips; however their indefensible apathy rather tends to support the constant, rather than disprove it - with one or two notable exceptions, of course,” he rasped, as the secateurs snipped, severed foliage falling to the floor below.  Somewhere in the room beyond an alert beeped distracting the Seer from his botanical activities.

“Speaking of which,” he said, “I have an appointment to keep…”  He snipped off the head of the nearest rose with a swift clip of the secateurs, then turned toward the insistent beep of the alert.

“…with an old friend.”

 

 

Procardinal Jonaris paced the worn wooden floor of the Consular Chamber, his face set into a heavy frown.  Periodically, he stopped to check the ornate fob watch concealed in the many folds of his robes, huffed to himself, then resumed his journey around the room.  Prime Consul Varden watched him from his chair, his expression languid.  

“Expecting someone?”  asked Varden.

Jonaris stopped and stared at the Prime Consul, his brooding concentration broken.  “Not at all,” huffed the cleric, “I’m just wondering how long we are to be confined in such uncomfortable surroundings.”

Varden looked around the room.  The Consular Chamber was large, but relatively sparsely furnished; the walls were covered in tired wood panelling, decorated with numerous small tapestries, each one depicting the name and insignia of former Consuls and Prime Consuls from the past three centuries.  The room smelt of age rather than opulence, a heady mix of varnish, old fabric and dusty parchment reminiscent of a library, museum or other such custodian of ancient tradition and thought.  Items of furniture were few and far between: a few upholstered benches and chaise longue were arranged around the edges of the walls, but the room was dominated by two long wooden pews, semi-circular in shape, placed facing each other in the centre of the chamber, forming a broken circle.  The breach in the circle was filled by the large, unembellished desk at which Varden sat, his fingers steepled in front of him.

“‘Uncomfortable’?” he said, feigning hurt. “Well, I suppose it’s nothing compared to the accommodations enjoyed by the Order, but it serves its purpose.  The Consuls of Serenity have no need for lavish surroundings to conduct our business - in fact the humbleness of our environment keeps us in mind of the people we serve.”  He smiled at the cleric.  “The Keeper himself had no need for cushions and furs on his throne of office.”

Jonaris reddened.  “You are _not_ Keeper, Varden!” he blustered, “And you never will be!”

“Quite right, my dear Procardinal.  Besides, even if I wished to be, what is a Keeper without the Source?”  

A pair of doors at the back of the room led out to a balcony overlooking the Civic Square, through which the sounds of the trouble below leaked in - the dull rumble of the crowd, interspersed with shouts, screams and cries, all against the ominous backdrop of the continuing storm.  Jonaris looked to the open doors, distracted by the noise.

“Are you sure we’re safe up here, Varden?  It sounds like all hell is breaking loose down there.”

Varden sat back in his chair, idly checking his wrist device.  “Not to worry,” he said, “the building is secure, my men are at the door, and everything that can possibly be done has been done to ensure our continued safety.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see about that,” Jonaris muttered.

“Relax, my friend,” soothed Varden, “You and I have been at this game for a long time.  All will be well, eventually… as always.”

“The game has changed - you know that as well as I, Varden!  New players bring new risks…” the cleric replied, frowning.    “Perhaps this is the final hand.”  

 

 

Foster Drevus stood at the main doorway of the Civic Hall and surveyed the scene before him, his face set in a scowl.  The doors were barred and secured with the weight of thirty fosters holding them fast, but still they creaked and buckled with the pressure of the masses outside bearing down on them.  The sound of the crowd beyond was formidable; from the depth of the dull roar Drevus guessed that hundreds, if not thousands had swelled the citizens’ ranks since he had left his post.  The nearer sounds of the agonised gasps and screams of those at the front of the crush were similarly blood-chilling.  People were undoubtedly dying, and it seemed Drevus had little choice but to act.  He turned to the neatly-arranged ranks of white-robed acolytes behind him.

“Right.  We’re going out.  Your orders are to push back the crowd and restore order.  Set your rifles to stun, and use the minimum force necessary to regain control.  Remember, these are the citizens of Serenity and therefore our kin - loss of life is to be avoided at all costs.”  He turned to the tall, grey-haired Foster beside him.

“Take them out, Foster Telemas.  You have command.”

“What?  You’re not coming with us?”

Drevus sighed heavily, his expression grim yet determined.  “No, brother.  There’s something I must do… before it’s too late.”    

  

 

The doors of the Consular Chamber burst open with a loud crash, causing both Varden and Jonaris to look up in alarm.  They were relieved to see the familiar face of Proctor Morovan burst in.

“Morovan!” cried the Procardinal, “Thank the Lady!  But what in heaven’s name–”

The Proctor was followed by Tegan, flushed with exertion and carrying her shoes in one hand.  She indicated the benches in the middle of the room with the other.

“Here you go, Doc, you can put her down over there.”

The Doctor entered, similarly red-faced, with Nyssa in his arms.  He hurried to the benches and deposited the still-unconscious girl on the nearest one, before sitting back on the floor to regain his breath.

The party was completed by a dozen armed acolytes, who silently filed in and arranged themselves against the back wall.  Prime Consul Varden got to his feet.

“What is the meaning of this, Proctor?” he growled, “There are no arms to be borne in the Consular Chamber, you know that!”  Before Morovan could answer, the Procardinal got to his feet.

“This is _my_ private bodyguard, Varden, and I think you’ll agree that desperate times call for desperate measures!” Jonaris turned to the Doctor and Tegan.  “What ails the Lady?  If you have harmed her, Herald–”

The Doctor interrupted, his voice suffused with irritation.  “I haven’t done anything!  Now, if you would just be quiet for one minute, I need to concentrate…”

The Procardinal began another blustering rant but the Doctor ignored him, focussing instead on his unconscious companion before him.  He knelt next to Nyssa’s head, smoothed back her curly hair, and placed his fingers around her temples, closing his eyes.  Tegan looked on silently, her face concerned.

Varden watched the scene intently, until his ears pricked at an unfamiliar sound from the direction of the hallway.  Raised voices, muffled by the closed doors, were followed by the louder and unmistakeable sound of laser fire.  The doors burst open once more, and a Foster staggered into the room, gasping in agony before collapsing to the floor.  Two acolytes could be seen beyond the doorway, their crumpled forms lying motionless on the carpet.  The Foster groaned, his hands reddening as he clutched his stomach.  Varden moved to help him, recoiling momentarily as he recognised his face.

“Drevus!  What’s happening?  Can you hear me?  _Drevus!_ ”

The young man stilled at the sound of the Prime Consul’s voice.  “My Lord… I had to tell you…”  His face contorted in pain with the effort of speaking.  

“Lie still, Foster,” said Varden, cradling the young man’s head, “We’ll get you a medic.  Conserve your strength; whatever it is, it can wait.”

Drevus shook his head.  “N-no, my Lord… it can’t!”  He took a deep, rasping breath, his blood-stained hand grabbing the Prime Consul’s robes.  “It’s a - a _coup_ , my Lord!  An army,” he gasped, “of acolytes… hundreds of them, all armed…”  Drevus broke off, coughing, his lips shining with blood.  

Varden grabbed his hand as the young Foster struggled for breath.  “Be _still_ , Foster.  Your job is done.  I’ll deal with it from here.”

Drevus took one last, shuddering breath.  “No!  M-Morovan… can’t… don’t t-trust…”  The Foster’s head lolled, his last effort expended.  

Varden lowered him gently to the floor.

Proctor Morovan looked down at the lifeless form of Drevus, and shook his head.

“Wrong choice, boy,” he said bitterly, as he calmly levelled his pistol at the Prime Consul’s head.

 

 

Tegan touched the Doctor’s shoulder.  The Time Lord opened his eyes, blinking as his vision readjusted to the physical plane.

“Excellent!  That should do it.”  He looked at Nyssa, who now appeared to be sleeping peacefully.  “I’ve rebuilt her mental defences myself.  Much easier thanks to your efforts in severing the telepathic connection.  She should be fine, once she wakes up.”  

“Doctor, there’s something going on here,” said Tegan in a low voice, “I’m not entirely sure what it is, but I do know someone just got blasted, so whatever it is, it’s not good.  If you ask me, we need to wake Nyssa up, find Adric, and get the heck out of here!”

The Doctor got to his feet, and dusted off his hands.  “Now, now Tegan, let’s not be too hasty.”

“What’s wrong with hasty?” hissed Tegan.  “There’s a dead man over there, and I’m not anxious to join him, so hasty’s the way to go as far as I’m concerned - the hastier the better!”

“That may be the case, Tegan, but the fact is that Nyssa has been sedated, and we don’t know what dosage you gave her or indeed have any idea about Trakenite biology, which means we don’t have a clue as to when she will wake up.  So until that happens, I’m afraid we'll have to stay here, and while we’re here, we might as well try and help the situation.”  With that, the Time Lord got to his feet, dusted his trousers off, and headed over to where the stricken Foster lay.  

Tegan looked down at her sleeping friend.  “Nyssa, if you can hear me,” she whispered, her voice quavering with trepidation, “please wake up soon, before the Doctor gets us all killed!”

 

 

“Showing your true colours at last, Morovan?”  Varden looked calmly down the barrel of the pistol, then up into the eyes of his subordinate.  “What took you so long?”

“A good soldier considers all options, my Lord,” the Proctor sneered, “I am nothing if not prudent.”  He stepped back as the Prime Consul slowly rose to his feet, wiping his blood-stained hands on his robes.  

“Prudent?” scoffed Varden, bitterly, “Your ‘prudence’ smacks of self-interest, my friend.  I knew you were a soldier, Morovan… I never had you down for a _mercenary_.”

Morovan stepped forward, snarling, his pistol raised at Varden once more, but found his way suddenly blocked.

“Now now,” said the Doctor with a placating smile, “I’m sure this is something that can be resolved without resorting to violence.”

The Prime Consul let out a cynical laugh.  “Once again you demonstrate scant knowledge of our past, Doctor.  The pages of our history are written in blood.”  

The Doctor drew breath to respond, but his words were masked by the sound of gunfire from outside.  

"What the–?” cried Varden.  He turned and rushed to the balcony, oblivious to the Proctor’s weapon still aimed at his head.  

The scene that greeted him from the Civic Square below was like a window into hell.  The Prime Consul’s eyes narrowed as he took it all in: the square was packed with thousands of people, the crowd roaring and boiling like the waves of a storm-tossed sea.  As thunder rolled in the black clouds overhead, the citizens below surged forwards, their voices echoing the angry storm above. The turbulent mass filled the square entirely, and as the rain drilled down the heat from the multitude of bodies caused steam to rise lazily from their sodden clothes.  As Varden looked further back he could see the streets leading into the plaza were similarly crammed with people, stretching as far back as the eye could see, like a network of tributary streams and rivers flowing into a seething pool.  

Directly below the balcony, the perimeter of the Civic Hall was secured by a thinly-stretched line of Fosters, the long barrels of their laser rifles interlocked as they grimly fought to hold back the throng before them.Their guns were silent; the laser fire came from behind them, where a mass of white-robed acolytes seemed to be firing into the crowd indiscriminately, each blast giving rise to pockets of horrified screams and cries, causing ripples to radiate out like stones cast into water.  Panic had taken hold at the front of the square, as frightened citizens turned to run, pushing back away from the gunfire, but they had nowhere to go; those at the back and in the streets beyond were still pushing forwards, oblivious to the carnage before them.  The inexorable pressure from fore and aft left those in the middle trapped, slowly being crushed in a human vice.  As their agonised screams reached Varden’s ears he turned away and headed back into the room, his face a mask of fury.

“What in the Keeper’s name is going on, Jonaris?  There are members of your Order down there, and they’re firing on the citizens!”

The Procardinal shrugged. “Desperate times, my friend, remember?”

Varden rounded on the Proctor.  “And what have you to say about all this, Morovan?”  He pointed to the balcony behind him.  "Is this your choice?  Anarchy and slaughter?  I’ll see you stripped of office for this day’s work!”

Morovan stood impassive.  “I act, my Lord, as I have always done: with my conscience.”

A loud burst of gunfire echoed around the square outside, followed by the panicked screams of the Serenite citizens.   

“And this is what your conscience commands, is it?” Varden shouted incredulously, pointing towards the balcony - “The needless deaths of the innocent?  To what end?”

Morovan smiled grimly, raising his pistol once more.  “Why, _yours_ , my Lord,” he said, as he pulled the trigger.  

 

 

Tegan watched in horror from across the room as Prime Consul Varden was thrown backwards by the force of the blast, landing in a crumpled heap at the foot of his desk.  She quickly ducked down behind the bench occupied by Nyssa’s supine form.  Things were escalating much too quickly for her liking.  

“I’d have been safer facing that angry mob with Suren,” she muttered to herself, “At least then I would have known who the enemy was!”  

She was surprised to be answered by a quiet groan from the bench next to her.  “Nyssa?” Tegan looked at her friend.  

The girl's eyelids were fluttering, her smooth brow creasing into a frown.  Tegan put a hand on her arm, whilst keeping a watchful eye on the events across the room.

“Listen, just stay quiet a minute, OK?” she whispered, “I’m not sure you waking up right now is the best idea after all…”

 

 

“There was absolutely no need for that!” shouted the Doctor.  The Time Lord moved to where Varden lay, hurriedly checking his pulse whilst simultaneously keeping a close eye on the muzzle of Proctor Morovan’s pistol.

“On the contrary, Herald,” replied Procardinal Jonaris, “There was _every_ need. The Prime Consul _must_ be removed, if we are to safeguard the future of Serenity.”

The Doctor looked down at Varden - who thankfully seemed to have been merely stunned - then stood and looked over to where the less fortunate figure of Drevus lay, his eyes still and lifeless.

“So Drevus was right,” he said, accusingly, “This _is_ a coup!  But tell me, Procardinal, how does replacing one tyrant with another help the people of this planet, hmmm?”

Proctor Morovan stepped forward, moving his gun in the direction of Tegan and Nyssa.  “Because _this_ leader will be backed by heavenly appointment.”

The Doctor frowned.  “You don’t mean–”

“Yes,” interrupted Morovan.  “And it’s all thanks to you, my Lord Herald.  You brought our Lady home to us.”

“Not for this!  Not to be used in your petty power games!”

“This is no ‘game’, Time Lord!” Jonaris thundered.  “This is my life’s work!  The culmination of years of planning and effort!”

“To what end, Procardinal?  To satisfy your greed and lust for power?”

“To return Serenity to its proper place in the heavens!  To reinstate our sacred purpose, with the Order back in its rightful role as custodians of the spiritual wellbeing of the people!”

The Doctor laughed scornfully.  “With you at its head, no doubt!  You megalomaniacs are all the same!”

The cleric smiled, shaking his head.  “No, Doctor, you overestimate my importance.  I am simply an instrument of the divine.” 

“Nyssa will never capitulate to this, you realise that, don’t you?  She will never willingly subject the population of this world to tyranny!”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be ‘willingly’, does it?” snarled Morovan, hefting his pistol meaningfully.

Adric swayed, sweat breaking out across his forehead.  He was alone again, lost in a world of confused, swirling images and surging emotions.  The clarity that had come from his erstwhile guide had gone, his lifeline back to sanity severed.  He felt himself sinking into the dark pools of the Alzarian marsh once more, a single word echoing through his mind as the fetid waters soaked his long-parched gills and slowly covered his upturned face...

 

Brother.

Brother.

Brother. Brother. Brotherbrotherbrotherbrother–

 

“ _Adric?”_

Adric’s eyes snapped open.  He could see the weak, misty light of the sun through the water above him.

“ _Adric?”_

The sound of his name shot through him like an electric current.  He looked around, but he was utterly alone, the dank pool around him empty and devoid of life.

“ _Adric!”_

Suddenly a hand ripped through the surface of the water above him, scattering the sun’s faint disc into a million points of light as it reached towards him, grasping fingers outstretched, searching.  Instinctively he reached up and grabbed it, his gasp escaping in a torrent of bubbles as he felt himself inexorably pulled up towards the light...

Adric’s face broke the water’s surface, eyes momentarily blinded by the brightness; he coughed, spluttering as his lungs struggled to cope with the sudden transition from water to oxygen-rich air.  He felt his feet scrape the silty marsh bed beneath him as he was dragged through the the shallow water at the edge of the marsh, his legs catching on reeds and tangling in riverfruit vines, pulling at his limbs as if keen to draw him back into the murky water.  At last he lay panting on the gritty shale at the water’s edge.  After a moment he turned, and found himself looking into a familiar pair of eyes.

“V- _Varsh?”_

His brother’s anxious face broke into a smile, water dripping from his tousled hair.  “I couldn't reach you before,” he said, panting.  “You were too deep.  But then I spotted you close to the surface, and I managed to grab you.”  He looked at his younger brother intently.  “You’ve been down there for a long time.  Are you sure you’re ok?”

Adric frowned, shaking his head.  “I... I can’t... don’t know how–”  He stopped, raising his clenched fists to his face and growling in frustration as his words eluded him.

Varsh laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry Adric, you were always better with numbers than words anyway!”  He got to his feet, dragging his brother up with him.  “We’ll work it out on the way.”

“Way?”

“This way,” Varsh replied.  “I’m taking you _home._ ”

 

 

“I might have known,” exclaimed the Doctor, eyeing Proctor Morovan’s gun with disgust - “It always comes down to this, doesn’t it?  If in doubt, point a gun at someone!  It’s becoming quite tedious, really.”

Morovan raised an eyebrow.  “I have always found the method to be efficient.”

“So what are you going to do?  Hold Nyssa at gunpoint for the rest of her life?  Force her to sanctify your dirty work?  How long do you think you can keep that charade up for, hmmm?”

“As long as necessary to secure our position and free Serenity from oppression!”  Procardinal Jonaris stepped forward, his face reddening.  He pointed to the Prime Consul, laid on the floor at his feet.  “We have suffered long enough at the hands of this tyrant,” he spat.

“So you’re replacing him with another one.  Marvellous!” scoffed the Doctor.  “And when you’re ‘secure’?  What happens to Nyssa then?”

“The Lady will remain as our spiritual inspiration.  She will be treated with the respect she deserves,” said Jonaris.

The Doctor sighed exasperatedly, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “So, a prisoner then.  You realise, of course, that I can’t allow this to happen?”

“Oh, really?” Morovan squared up to the Doctor, resting the muzzle of his gun under the Time Lord’s chin.  “And what exactly are you going to do to stop us?”

“ _Stop._ ”  

“Everything in my power!” cried the Doctor.  He stared Morovan in the eye, unflinching. 

“ _Stop!_ ”

Morovan laughed. “Ha!  You might be the Herald, but you’re only one man.  If you hadn’t noticed, we have an army at our disposal!” 

  “ _STOP!_ ”  

The shout from across the room halted the two men mid-flow.  They turned to see Nyssa, awake and upright, her head in her hands.

“I’ll do it,” she said, quietly.  “Whatever you want of me, I’ll do it.  Just please, stop this madness.”

 

 

“ _STOP!_ ”

Varsh and Adric had left the marshside, the older brother leading the way through the dense forest.  They had moved at a steady run, but now Varsh turned as Adric shouted from a few metres behind him.  The boy was doubled over, gasping for breath.

“Come on Adric!” said Varsh, “We’re nearly there - look!”  He pointed to where the dark, angular shape of the Starliner jutted through the trees.

“No - must stop…” Adric panted, sweat dripping from his face into the lush grass below.

“But we’re nearly home!”  Varsh looked back through the trees from where they’d come.  He shivered, chilled by a cold breeze that had suddenly picked up.  “We’ve got to keep going!”

Thin wisps of mist started to creep through the forest behind the two Alzarians; Varsh’s eyes widened as he saw the fog’s icy white fingers begin to caress the trees closest to them, inching slowly nearer.  He turned back to his brother, grabbing his tunic and hauling him upright.

“Adric, it’s Mistfall!  Come on, we’re so close to home!  We’ve got to move - _now!_ ” 

Adric snarled, pushing his brother away.  “No!  You’re dead!” he cried.  “You’re all dead!”

       

 

“Nyssa?  Are you alright?”  The Doctor pushed Morovan’s gun aside, and went over to where she stood, Tegan hovering at her side.  He gently touched her chin, tipping her face upwards and looking into her eyes.  “How are you feeling?”

Nyssa took his hand from her face, shaking her head and frowning.  “I’m fine, I think… apart from a terrible headache.”

“That was a very dangerous thing you did, young lady,” he began to lecture, “Attempting telepathic communication on that scale could have fried every single one of your synapses!”

Nyssa held up her hand - “I realise that now Doctor, thank you!  But there’s so much pain and suffering here… can’t you feel it?”

The Doctor closed his eyes momentarily, breathing in deeply through his nostrils, before expelling the air via a sigh.  “Yes… there is something there, in the background…”  He opened his eyes once more, “Funny, I haven’t noticed it before, but I’m afraid I’ve been rather distracted.”

“You can both sense what the people of this planet are feeling?” asked Tegan.

“Yes,” replied Nyssa.  “Which is why I have to help.  In any way that I can.”  She took a deep breath, and stepped towards where the Procardinal and Proctor Morovan stood watching the conversation with interest, the latter’s gun still aimed in the trio’s direction.  Tegan grabbed her arm, pulling the Trakenite back.

“You can’t be serious!” she cried, “These people are maniacs!  They’ve already shot the Prime Consul, and their soldiers are busy blasting the citizens to smithereens as we speak!  Who’s to say what they’ll do next?”

“Tegan’s right,” agreed the Doctor.  “You can’t trust them, Nyssa.  They just want to use your position as the Lady to give their coup legitimacy - you can’t just play into their hands!”

“And what’s the alternative?” asked Nyssa, calmly.  “We’re already being held at gunpoint - if I refuse, they’ll threaten to kill me, and if I still refuse, then the gun will be pointed at you and Tegan. Besides,” she continued, “the chaos outside must be stopped - irrespective of who ultimately benefits - before more needless deaths occur.”

“A wise decision, my Lady,” leered Jonaris, stepping forward to take her arm.  Before the Doctor could react, he steered her in the direction of the balcony.  “This way, if you please.  I need you to make your first address to the people.  And don’t worry if you’re lost for words, I just happen to have a script all prepared…”

 

 

“Adric, what are you talking about?” cried Varsh, coughing as the first tendrils of cold mist hit his lungs.  “I’m right here!  Please - the mist is almost on us!  We’ve got to go!”

“Get away from me!”  Adric’s voice broke, tears running down his face.  “You’re not real!  You died!”  He staggered back from his brother’s outstretched arms, back towards the gathering fog and the marsh beyond.  

“You died and left me _alone!_ ”

 

 

Thunder rumbled overhead as Nyssa stepped through the doors and out onto the balcony adjoining the Consular Chamber.  Thankfully the rain had all but stopped, but the black clouds still hung ominously overhead.  She tentatively moved closer to the edge, Procardinal Jonaris at her elbow, urging her on.  Looking out at the boiling mass of people a hundred feet below, the altruistic conviction she had felt a moment ago began to rapidly dissipate, and she began to wonder how she could even begin to make a difference to the chaos before her.  As she stared, a burst of gunfire broke out from a squad of white robed acolytes toward the front of the melee, rapidly followed by the screams of the surrounding citizens as they pushed back, trying to flee, but with nowhere to go.  The cries of pain were more than she could bear.

Nyssa tried desperately to imagine what her father would have done in this situation, but the still-raw sense of loss that his memory evoked merely added to the waves of misery and panic emanating from the citizens below.  She realised that Tremas had already done all he can, by instilling in her an unshakeable sense of justice and a desire to help those in need in any way she could.  In living by his example, she couldn't go wrong.  With a determined expression, Nyssa turned to the Procardinal.

“Tell your men to cease fire and pull back to the perimeter of the building,” she demanded.  “I won’t speak to people held at gunpoint, whatever threats you make.”

Jonaris narrowed his eyes, considering the slight girl before him.  After a few moments he called to Morovan. The Proctor approached the doorway, still covering the Doctor and Tegan with his gun.  After a whispered conversation, he withdrew back into the room, barking orders into his communicator. Whilst he was distracted, Tegan turned to the Doctor.

“Alright Doctor, what’s the plan?”

The Doctor didn’t answer.  He stood staring at the acolytes arranged around the room, absent-mindedly fiddling with the contents of his coat pocket.

“Doctor!” Tegan hissed.

“Mmmm?  What?”

Tegan rolled her eyes.  “The _plan_ , Doctor!  What are we going to do?”

“Plan!  Ah, yes!  Well said, Tegan.  We really must get one of those... any ideas?"

“I’m an air stewardess, Doc, _you’re_ the nine-hundred year old Time Lord, remember?”  She punched him on the shoulder.  “Doctor! Are you even listening to me?”

“Ouch!”  The Doctor rubbed his arm, then wandered over to where the nearest acolytes stood.  “There’s no need for violence, Tegan!” he admonished.  “I was just wondering about these chaps.  Notice anything strange?”

Tegan looked at the identically-robed guards arranged around the room.  “They’ve all got guns, that’s what I notice!  Now come on Doctor, Morovan’s bound to finish any minute!”

The Doctor was barely listening to her.  “No, I mean about how they’re all exactly the same height…”  He walked along the line, tapping his finger to his lips as his mind worked overtime.  The acolytes ignored him, their hoods partially covering their faces.

“Yeah? So what?”

“Well, it’s a very limited population, Tegan, and given the relatively small proportion of that population that are likely to seek a vocation within the Order I think it very improbable that there could be sufficient numbers of identically-sized acolytes with which to form a sizeable guard, don’t you?  Plus the fact that they seem to have raised a rather large army in a rather short space of time.  Which means….”

“Er, Doctor…!”  Tegan stepped back as Proctor Morovan, having finished his communication, turned back towards them.  The Doctor, caught up in his train of thought, was oblivious to her warning.  Morovan closed in on the Time Lord, his gun pointed directly at the back of his head.

 

 

Adric snarled, raising his clawed hands as he backed away from his older brother.

“Adric!  Come on!”

“No!  Keep away from me!”

“Please!”  Varsh pleaded, “You’re not alone!  Everyone’s waiting for you on the Starliner!  Please Adric, just a bit further!”

The younger boy shook his head, tears and confusion clouding his vision.  “You’re not real,” he growled, “None of this is real!  There’s no one… just the voice in my head… it won’t stop!”

Varsh held out his hand.  “Trust me, _brother_.”  Adric recoiled at the word, but Varsh persisted: “They’re all waiting.  Tylos, Keara, Login and the others…”

“No…”  Adric backed away further, the cold mist circling his legs.

“And the Doctor’s there waiting for you…”

The mist reached Adric’s torso, enveloping him in its cool embrace.  “I can’t…” he sobbed, “I - please… make it stop!”

“…with Tegan and Nyssa.  Remember Nyssa?”

Adric stopped dead in his tracks, synapses firing involuntarily in his brain like fireworks.  The wind picked up suddenly, swirling the white fog around him. The surrounding world dissolved: the forest, the Starliner and Varsh melting away into nothing, until there was just the spiralling mist, with Adric at the epicentre, battered by the raging currents that tore his screams from his throat and sent them hurtling into the maelstrom, his tortured voice reflecting back at him and reverberating through his consciousness…

“ _Kill… Kill… KILL…!”_

 

 

“Clones!”  The Doctor turned round triumphantly, his smile fading rapidly as he realised he was now face to face with the muzzle of Morovan’s gun.  He composed himself almost instantaneously.  “Isn’t that right, Proctor Morovan?  You’ve got yourself a little cloning factory in that basement lab of yours, haven’t you?”

“I _knew_ you’d been through those doors!” cried Morovan triumphantly.

The Doctor ignored him, revelling in his realisations.  “Complex amino acid solutions, synthetic enzymes, nutrient baths… I should have realised before!  Classic ingredients for cellular mitosis and artificial embryogenesis!”  

“I think you’ve just signed your own death warrant, Herald,” snarled the Proctor.

“But the real question is….” the Doctor span away from Morovan’s aim, quickly moving along the line of acolytes before his assailant could react, before stopping suddenly before one in particular, “…If they’re all clones, then why is _this_ acolyte so much shorter than the rest, hmmm?”

The Doctor reached across and pulled the acolyte’s white hood back from his face.  

Tegan instantly let out a gasp.

“ _ADRIC!”_

 

 

Nyssa took a deep breath, and stepped forward into the intense pool of light at the edge of the balcony where a series of spotlights converged.  She looked down at the crowds below, her heartbeat racing.  The gunfire had ceased, she noticed thankfully, the white-robed acolytes having withdrawn to the perimeter of the building.  The crowd still pressed forwards, the cries of the hungry and desperate drifting up to her like smoke from a smouldering volcano.

“As agreed, my Lady, my people have disengaged,” said Jonaris, hovering at her elbow.  “Time to keep your part of the bargain.”

“Thank you Procardinal, I am aware of my obligations,” Nyssa replied, primly.  She cleared her throat, hesitantly moving closer to the microphone that would convey her words - no, she thought, the _Procardinal’s_ words - to not only the people before her, but the entire population of the colony.  It was a sobering thought, but not one, she reflected, that she had any choice about, not if her friends were to remain unharmed.  With that in mind, she raised her arms.

“Citizens of Serenity!”  Nyssa was momentarily taken aback by the sound of her own voice reverberating across the square and beyond.  The tone of the crowd below altered, the sudden awareness of her presence rippling across the sea of people like a stone dropped into a pond.  

“Citizens of Serenity,” she repeated, “I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for this extraordinary welcome.  Please, be at peace.”  Nyssa paused, and the people gradually hushed.  “My name…” 

She hesitated, aware that she had come to the point of no return.  Her next sentence would alter the course of her life forever, for good or ill, and the significance of that fact caused the words to catch in her throat.  She felt Jonaris shifting his considerable weight beside her, subtly reminding her of his presence.  There was no alternative but to speak the words she had been given.

“My name is Nyssa, and I… I am the last daughter of Traken.”  The crowd erupted into cheers and roars, the whole plaza suddenly alive with sound.  Nyssa waited for the noise to subside slightly, before continuing. 

“It has been a long journey, but I am finally home.  I carry the spirit of the Union of Traken within me, and I am here to share its blessings with you all.  But I bring not only a blessing, but a _promise_.  Serenity has seen hardship over the centuries, and I feel the pain and suffering of each and every one of you.  My promise is to bring an end to that suffering.  To end the hateful tyranny you have all been subjected to, and to return peace to the last remnant of our beloved Union.”

The mass of citizens cheered once more, voicing their shared approval.  Nyssa looked at the Procardinal, who nodded his endorsement, his thick lips peeling back into a satisfied smile.  She turned away, nauseated by his expression and the part she was playing in his triumph.  One more sentence, she thought, and his victory would be complete.

 

 

Adric swayed where he stood, his face pale and sweaty, his eyes ringed with red, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.  The Doctor gently took his shoulders, peering into his face.

“Adric!  Thank goodness you’re safe.”  The Time Lord shook the boy’s shoulders, frowning at his lack of response.  “Adric?  Are you alright?”

Tegan stepped forward, concerned.  “What’s wrong with him, Doctor?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, snapping his fingers in front of Adric’s face.  “Some sort of metabolic poison perhaps, or more likely… he’s been _drugged_.”  He turned to Proctor Morovan accusingly: “What have you done to my companion, Proctor?”

“His condition is nothing to do with me,” replied Morovan, matter-of-factly, “My men have been searching for him, if you recall.”

“Yeah, right!” said Tegan, “Didn’t do a very good job, did they?  He was right under your nose!”

“Quiet, Tegan!” interjected the Doctor, before Morovan could retaliate.  “I think he’s coming round.  Adric?  It’s the Doctor - can you hear me?”

The Time Lord’s voice seemed to spark a sudden recognition in the boy.  He blinked, frowning, and focussed on the Doctor’s face.  Without warning, he grabbed the Doctor’s arms, and pushed back violently, his voice an indiscernible snarl.  The Doctor, taken by surprise, fell to the floor.

“Adric?  What the–”

“No!” cried the Alzarian, standing over his erstwhile mentor.  “You’re not real!  None of you are real!”

“Adric, what are you doing?” cried Tegan, moving towards the boy.

“Tegan, stay back!  There’s something wrong!” the Doctor shouted, quickly regaining his feet.  Adric snarled, swinging around towards her, hands raised menacingly.  The Doctor leapt behind him, locking his arms around the boy’s torso, pinning his arms to his sides.  Adric began to struggle wildly, forcing the Doctor backwards.  They veered towards the consular benches, bound together in an incongruous dance, until the Doctor’s legs collided with the low bench and he fell backwards, taking Adric with him.  The Doctor was momentarily stunned, but Adric rolled and got to his feet quickly, his face a mask of savage fury.

“Leave me _ALONE!_ ” he screamed, clutching his head - “I can’t… it’s not real!  You - you left me!”  He rounded on the Doctor, who was rubbing the back of his head, struggling to get up from where he lay, sprawled on the floor.   

“Adric, NO!”  Tegan shouted.

“I’ll deal with this,” Morovan growled, and he raised his gun, training it on the centre of Adric’s back.

“Oh no you don’t!” cried Tegan.  She barrelled into the Proctor, spoiling his aim and sending him hurtling across the room.  The laser blast he had intended for Adric missed the boy by a fraction of a centimetre, exploding into the wood panelling of the far wall.  The gun flew out of the Proctor’s hand; Tegan immediately dived upon it, frantically flicking switches and pressing buttons on the handle.  Adric, distracted by the blast sizzling past his head, turned to face Tegan with a growl of rage.  Across the room, Morovan leapt to his feet, lurching towards the earthwoman, his face twisted in anger.   

 

 

“This has been a monumental day,” proclaimed Nyssa, her voice ringing out across the plaza, “that shall long be remembered in the annals of Serenity’s history.  It has seen the return of your Lady and… and also the end of Prime Consul Varden’s imperious rule.  I…” she paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.  “I commend to you my new government, headed by those closest to my person.  Henceforth, Procardinal Jon–”

Nyssa stopped suddenly, her head whipping round to face Jonaris.  “What was that?” she asked, distracted by the strange sounds emanating from the room behind them.

“It is nothing!  Resume your address!” cried the cleric, desperately trying to turn Nyssa back towards the microphone.  The unmistakable sound of a laser blast crackled through the air.

“That’s _not_ nothing!” shouted Nyssa, and stormed towards the doorway to the Consular Chamber.

 

 

“Stop!”  Tegan held the gun out before her, her hands shaking.  “I’m not sure what setting this thing is on, so don’t make me use it!”

Proctor Morovan stopped, raising his hands into the air.  “Now, let’s not do anything rash… you are surrounded by a dozen armed acolytes, girl.  One word from me, and they’ll blast you to oblivion.  So put the gun down, and we’ll say no more about it.” 

“Don’t ‘girl’ me,” spat Tegan, “I can pull this trigger before you’ve even drawn breath, don’t think I won’t!”  She turned her attention to Adric, who was advancing towards her.  “Adric, stop, please!  I don’t want to shoot you!”

Morovan used the distraction to lunge towards her, but Tegan spotted him, and swinging the pistol round she fired, hitting the Proctor full in the chest.  He crumpled like a rag doll, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.  Adric barely registered the Proctor’s fate, his advance towards Tegan continuing unabated.  

“ _Please_ Adric,” Tegan cried, tears clouding her vision, “Please stop!  Don’t make me shoot - I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Let me _go_ , Procardinal!”  The voice came from the balcony, and Nyssa burst into the room - closely followed by a red-faced Jonaris.  Tearing her arm from the Procardinal’s grasp, she took in the scene before her in an instant, and gasped:  “Tegan!  What’s happening?  Is that… _Adric?!_ ”

The Doctor, still dazed, struggled to rise from the floor.  “Nyssa!  Stay back!”

Adric had swung round at the sound of Nyssa’s voice.  He looked at her, then shook his head, as if something were causing him pain.  “No…!” he moaned, his voice guttural and filled with despair.  “I can’t… she’s not real!  Don’t make me… _NO_!”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Nyssa, regarding her friend’s internal monologue with confusion.  “Is he unwell?”

“The boy is obviously deranged!” cried Jonaris.  “Acolytes - _seize him!_ ”

The previously motionless acolytes suddenly sprang to life and closed in, their rifles trained inexorably on the boy before them.  

“No!”  shouted Tegan - “Stay back!”  She waved her gun in the acolytes’ direction, but they continued regardless of her threat.  Their movement drew Adric’s attention, and he started to back away towards the balcony doorway, growling like a caged animal, his bloodshot eyes filled with anger, his prior confusion lost in base instinct.

The Doctor had managed to get to his feet, but found himself cut off behind the white-robed wall of cloned soldiers.  “Jonaris!  Tell them to stop!” he shouted - “There’s nowhere to go!  You’ll be trapped!”

The cleric spluttered, realising too late what he had done.  The acolytes were closing in, pushing Adric back towards the only available exit - the balcony doorway where he and Nyssa stood.  Hemmed in by their menacing advance, Adric turned and launched himself towards the Procardinal with a roar of anger.  Jonaris screamed, trying in vain to fend off the youth, his plump, bejewelled hands held up to protect his face from the onslaught.  

“Adric, _stop!_ ”  The Doctor tried to fight his way through the ever-contracting line of acolytes, as Tegan, having worked out the controls of the laser pistol, started stunning those closest to her.  Nyssa, however, found herself nearest to where Adric and Jonaris wrestled, locked in an ill-matched struggle.  

“Please, Adric - let him go!” she shouted, but the boy was oblivious to her words.  Left with little alternative, Nyssa grabbed Adric from behind, one arm locked around his neck, attempting to pull him away from the wailing cleric.  Suddenly knocked off balance, Adric staggered backwards, taking Nyssa with him.  The Doctor and Tegan watched helplessly as their two friends fell through the balcony doors and out into the cold night air.

 

 

The hunched figure of the Seer shuffled into his workshop, searching the benches with shaking hands as an alarm sounded on an instrument panel to one side.  He pushed aside reams of ancient paper, electronic components and delicate glassware; some of which rolled off the surface, smashing on the stone floor with a delicate tinkle.  A tortured chuckling sound emanated from his breath mask as he finally located the items he was looking for.

“Not long now…” he breathed, holding up a long, silver cylindrical object to the light.  He turned the object, checking it over, before placing it back on the bench in front of him.  “I do so _love_ reunions,” he whispered, picking up another item.

The Seer pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, his harsh, electronic chuckle echoing around the room.

 

 

Nyssa gasped as she fell to the floor of the balcony, Adric landing on top of her.  She managed to wriggle out from under him, hurriedly regaining her feet as he rolled on the floor, moaning and holding his head.  She could hear the Doctor’s voice from the inside of the Consular Chamber, telling her that he was on his way, but already she knew he would be too late.  Adric was on his feet again, breathing heavily and looking at her with eyes full of unfathomable rage.  

“Adric?  Please - it’s me, Nyssa!”  

Adric staggered forwards, not a single spark of recognition in his eyes, nothing that she could talk to.  He shook his head at the sound of her voice, grimacing in pain.  Tears rolled down Nyssa’s face at the sight of what her friend had become.

“We’re friends, remember?” she pleaded, backing away from him slowly.  She bumped into the railing at the edge of the balcony, and realised she had nowhere left to go.  “Please, Adric - you don’t want to do this.  Let me help you.”

“NO!” Adric cried, his fingers desperately clutching his head as if trying to keep something contained.  “Not… real,” he gasped, “Everyone dead… dying, must… can’t…!”

Nyssa looked behind her, over the edge of the parapet to the crowd hundreds of feet below.  She realised she was in the spotlight once more; the people, having noticed her return, were cheering and chanting her name.  The sound grew louder; she turned back to Adric, who seemed strangely intoxicated by the noise.  He swayed to and fro for a moment, in time with the chanting, before calmly uttering a single word:

“ _Kill_.”

Nyssa screamed as he launched himself at her.  Locked together in a deadly embrace, they tumbled over the edge of the railing, plummeting headlong towards the ground below.

 


	11. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events on Serenity descend into anarchy as the Doctor and Tegan race to save Nyssa and Adric from certain death...

**Chapter 11 - Descent**

 

Tegan burst out onto the balcony, just in time to witness her two struggling friends plunge over the parapet, Nyssa’s scream swiftly echoed by her own.  The Doctor arrived a split second behind her, and without hesitating ran to the edge.

“Doctor!  Do something!” Tegan cried hysterically.

The Doctor ignored her, frantically rifling through his pockets, pulling out objects and discarding them until he found what he was looking for.  He held the small, battered silver box up to the light, and swiftly looked over the edge.

 

 

Nyssa and Adric plunged towards the ground, the world around them a mess of spinning confusion, the rushing air stealing the terrified scream from Nyssa’s lungs.  Down they spiralled, locked in a desperate struggle, tumbling and rolling as Nyssa frantically tried to keep the boy’s hands from her throat.  Adric still clawed and kicked at her, seemingly oblivious to their shared plight, his face distorted further by the rushing wind into a grotesque mask of rage.  The world span, up and down becoming meaningless as land and sky whirled and switched in a sickening maelstrom. Nyssa instinctively grabbed Adric’s arms, entwining her legs around his in an attempt to fend off his attack, closing her eyes as the ground approached faster and faster...

The crowd in the plaza screamed and roared at the sight before them: the Lady, only just returned to them from the heavens, locked in a deadly plunge with a white-robed acolyte, and the ominous figure of the Herald watching their deadly descent from the balcony above. The spotlights picked out the falling pair, intertwined white and silver shining bright in the beams, the train of the Lady’s gown streaming out behind them like the trail of a shooting star.  The screams of horror intensified as they plummeted towards the ground, down, down, until…

      

 

“Now!” The Doctor shouted, and he pressed the button in the centre of the silver device.

 

 

“Oh!”  Nyssa gasped, as a warm sensation suddenly began in the centre of her chest, rapidly spreading out through her torso.  She opened her eyes to find her vision filled by a white, blinding light, growing in intensity until it enveloped and permeated her entire being.  The light seemed to pierce and sear through every single part of her body, burning through the chemical bonds of her constituent atoms and ripping her apart, cell by cell.  Nyssa tried to scream, but found there was nothing left of her to draw breath.  Her last conscious thought was of Traken, as the physical world around her dissolved into nothingness.

 

 

The brilliant white light bathed the upturned faces of the citizens as they watched the spectacle before them, their screams and cries becoming gasps and exclamations of shock as they witnessed the falling pair, inches from certain death, suddenly becoming engulfed by an expanding sphere of light.  The entire plaza was illuminated, the light becoming more and more intense until it became impossible to look at, causing the citizens to shield their eyes and look away.  As quickly as it arrived, the light receded, shrinking to a pinpoint of brilliance before that too winked out of existence.  After a few moments of silence whilst a multitude of eyes readjusted to the return of darkness, the crowd erupted into a thousand fervent conversations with the realisation that the Lady - and her assailant - had completely vanished from existence.  

 

 

The Doctor turned away from the edge of the balcony, closing his eyes as he slid down into a sitting position, the silver box still firmly in his grasp.  Tegan dashed to his side, not daring to look beyond the parapet that her friends had tumbled over moments before.

“Doctor!” she gasped, breathless.  “They're not…” she hesitated, reluctant to say the word, “...are they?”

“I sincerely hope not,” replied the Doctor.  He held up the battered box in his hand.  “Transmat control.  I had to wait until their relative proximity was close enough, but I think I activated it in time.”

Tegan’s jaw dropped.  “You ‘ _think’_?” 

“Well, it’s hard to be completely certain, I didn’t exactly have time to make detailed calculations, Tegan!” he snapped.

“Well excuse me for being concerned,” Tegan cried, “but I’ve just seen two of my friends fall to an almost certain death!  And then you tell me you’ve magically beamed them somewhere?”  She stopped, frowning.  “Where exactly have you sent them, anyway?”

The Doctor cleared his throat: “Ah, yes.  Well…”  He struggled to his feet, then started to pick up the various items from his pockets that were strewn across the balcony.  

“Doctor…!” the warning note in Tegan’s voice was clear.

“Alright!  I don’t know!  I confiscated a transmat dot from the agent that I met in the tavern.  I attached it to the pendant Nyssa was wearing back in your quarters, when you were getting ready for the feast.  I had made sure the device was working properly but couldn’t trace the signal to its end destination.”

“Great,” said Tegan, “So they could be anywhere.  You could have sent them to their deaths!”

“It was their only chance, Tegan!  But now–”

“But now we’ve lost _both_ of them!”

“But _now,”_ the Doctor stressed, “we have a way to _find_ them, and the origin point of the transmat beam too.”  He held out a hand to help Tegan up.  She hesitated for a moment, then took it.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her gently to her feet, “Let’s get to the TARDIS.”

 

 

“Well, what d’you make of that, Von?”  

The barrel-chested barman from the Foster’s Rest stood next to his wife in the centre of the Civic Square, staring at the space occupied just moments before by the Lady and her attacker as they fell from the balcony.  He turned to look at her, a bewildered expression on his face.  “Not a clue, Rosa.  In all my years, I’ve never seen the like.”

“D’you think she’s left us?”  Rosa pointed upwards to the heavens.  “You know… ‘ascended’, I mean?”

A hooded figure next to them shook his head.  “End of the world, I reckon,” he said, nodding to the balcony.  “That was the Herald up there, and I’ll bet my last penny that he helped them poor souls over the edge.  Just like on Traken: he got rid of the Keeper, and then next thing you know, the whole planet’s wiped out.  We’re all done for, you mark my words.”

“Rubbish!” cried Rosa.  “We had that bloke in our tavern, we did, and he was nice as pie.  Wouldn’t say boo to a goose, would he Von?”

“Aye,” Von nodded, before turning to look over his shoulder, “Oi!  Stop shoving, will you!”  He grabbed on to Rosa, protecting her with his huge frame as a surge from behind pushed them all forwards.  A group of young men immediately behind them started chanting something loud and incoherent; Rosa could make out the word ‘Boy’, repeated over and over as they raised their fists angrily.

“I don’t like this, Von,” she said, her voice wavering, “I’m scared.  Let’s get back to the tavern.”

Von, a head and shoulders taller than most of the surrounding citizens, looked out over the crowd.  The sporadic blasts of laser fire had stopped, and the numerous white-robed acolytes seemed to have withdrawn, but now Von could see pockets of violence beginning to break out across the Square, amid  angry shouts and aggressive chants as factions formed, each angrily claiming precedence over what had just occurred.  He turned back to Rosa.

“I think you’re right, love - it’s starting to go to hell.  Let’s - _oof!_ ”  Von staggered forwards, almost knocked off his feet by a shove from behind.  Turning angrily, he raised his meaty fist, but looked down to see a young man cowering before him, strangely dressed in what must have started out as evening wear but was now ripped in places and covered in a mixture of mud and the occasional patch of blood.

“Please don’t hit me!”  Suren said, wearily.  “I’ve had a hell of a night.”  

“You _do_ look like you’ve been in the wars, lad!” said Rosa.  “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Suren replied, “but I need to get into the Civic Hall.”  He looked at Von towering over him, almost as wide as he was tall.  “Could you possibly help me?”

“Maybe,” said Von, eyeing the newcomer warily, “but why should we?  You look like one of them who’s been in there all night, filling their bellies whilst the ordinary folk starve.”

“Please,” begged the bedraggled medic, “I’m the Lady’s personal physician.  You saw what just happened - I need to get to her.  She needs my help.”

Von looked to his wife, who shrugged her shoulders.  

“Well,” she said, “the Lady has answered a fair few prayers for us, I’ll grant you.”  

Von considered for a few moments, then gave a brief nod of agreement.  “Go on then, lad,” said the big man gruffly, “get behind me.  And whatever you do…. _keep up_!”

 

 

The brilliant white had light faded in intensity as quickly as it had arrived.  Nyssa opened her eyes, but saw nothing but a swirl of chimerical colours as her overloaded senses fought to adjust, leaving her confused and disorientated, firstly at the realisation that she was still alive and seemingly unharmed, and secondly due to the fact that - according to her other senses - she was still falling.  The inertia of her descent continued unabated until, moments later, she crashed into something soft and warm below her.  She lay for a moment, winded and nauseous, until the form underneath her suddenly began to move and groan.  

Nyssa gasped, blindly pushing herself up and away from whatever it was that had broken her fall, but quickly found herself up against an obstacle close behind her.  Panicking, she groped around in the darkness, but could find no immediate escape; meanwhile, the other form began to thrash about, roaring in anger as it reached out, fingers grasping blindly.  Nyssa shook her head, desperately trying to clear her vision, but to no avail; sensing her movement, her assailant lunged towards her, hands closing around her throat.  She kicked out and clawed at the hands choking her, but the rough, sinewy fingers squeezed tighter, closing off her windpipe until…

The sharp hiss of a hypospray sounded in close vicinity to Nyssa’s ear, and suddenly the pressure on her throat disappeared.  Nyssa slumped to the floor, coughing and sucking in large gulps of air.  As she lay gasping, her vision slowly began to clear.  

She was laid on a small circular platform, surrounded by a rail at waist-height.  To her left lay a crumpled body clad in a white robe, the messy mop of dark hair immediately recognisable as Adric’s.  She looked up at the dark figure standing over him, the light glinting from a silver injector in its hand. 

“Well, that’s quite enough of that, my boy!”  The voice was harsh and electronic.  A black-gloved hand reached down towards Nyssa.  “Good to see you, my dear!  Are you alright?”

Nyssa recoiled from the hand, a dull ache suddenly throbbing through her head.  “What… what have you done to Adric?” she asked, rubbing her temple.

“Oh, don’t worry.  The medication has just incapacitated him for a while.  He’ll be right as rain when he wakes up.”  The figure stepped closer, into the light.  

Nyssa frowned up at him - she could make out a small, squat frame, with long white hair atop a head bowed with age.  The features were indiscernible, concealed beneath tinted goggles and a silver breath mask, but Nyssa thought she could detect a hint of a smile on the lined face.

“He’s been through the mill, poor boy,” the stranger continued, “but it had to be so, I’m afraid; such is the nature of time.  Lucky for us his resilient Alzarian biology will rid his body of the effects of those nasty alien chemicals in no time… with a bit of help from my own concoction, of course.”  

Nyssa struggled to her feet, swaying slightly as her body tried to cope with yet another change in attitude.  The dull pain in her head swelled momentarily as she frowned at the stranger.  “Who are you?  And how do you know so much about Adric?”

He chuckled, shuffling towards a workbench and setting the injector down.  “Oh, not to worry, Nyssa dear, I’m just an old friend.  _Very_ old, in fact.  On this world, they call me ‘The Seer’, and that’s as much as you need to know… for now.”  

The old man began to rummage about on the cluttered workbench; Nyssa took advantage of his distraction, quietly moving over to where Adric lay.  “How do you know my name?” she asked, bending down and placing two fingers on Adric’s exposed neck.  She breathed a silent sigh of relief on feeling the strong pulse beneath his pale, clammy skin.

“You don’t need me to tell you that, my dear.  You’re an intelligent girl - I’m sure you’ll work it out for yourself, soon enough.”    

Adric moved under Nyssa’s touch, groaning softly.  Nyssa stood up and moved back to her former position, suddenly wary of the boy and the violence he had recently, inexplicably, directed towards her.  The Seer turned at the sound.

“Ah, he seems to be waking already.  Good, good.”  He moved back to the platform, checking a device on his wizened wrist.  “And perfect timing; our other guests should be arriving soon.”

“‘Other guests’?” Nyssa asked.

“Yes, yes,” the Seer chuckled, “I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing the Doctor and Tegan again after all this time.  Reunions are such fun, don’t you think?”

Nyssa shook her head, frowning in confusion.  “This is madness,” she cried, “How can you possibly know they’re coming?  And how can you know so much about all of us?  Unless…”

The Seer smiled behind his breath mask.  “Unless… go on, my dear, you’ll get there in the end.”

The Trakenite looked at Adric, whose eyes had begun to flutter open.  “Adric…” she breathed, as facts and events slotted themselves into place in her mind - “He’s from another universe, yet you know that he can heal faster than most humanoids in N-Space.  How could you know that?  Unless…”

Unless…?”

“Unless you’d witnessed him being hurt or injured in some way in the past…”  Nyssa recoiled as a sudden realisation hit her.  “Perhaps you were the one hurting him!”

“A logical conjecture, I agree,” the Seer rasped, “but surely you would have remembered that?”  The old man shuffled over to the corner of the room, and began to clear a space in the midst of the clutter accumulated there.

Nyssa frowned.  “Well, Adric travelled with the Doctor before I met him, it could have happened then, for all I know.  But you mentioned _time_ …”  She tailed off, lost in thought.

“Ah yes!  Time…” the Seer replied.  He picked up a box of glassware, blowing on it to remove the thick layer of dust that had accumulated on the various vials, tubes and bottles.  The resultant cloud dispersed into the air around him, each mote spinning and whirling in a search for somewhere new to settle.  The old man coughed, waving his gloved hand in front of his face.  “A construct that, in this case, is very much _relative_.”

Nyssa looked at him, a growing feeling of dread beginning to push at the edge of her realisation.  She continued, forcing her voice to remain calm and passive as she desperately tried not to let the feeling take hold.

“Of course…” she said, warily.  “There’s nothing to say your knowledge comes from our past… for all I know, your past could be our future!”  She surreptitiously nudged Adric with her foot, willing him to regain full consciousness.  If what she was beginning to realise was true, she would need whatever help she could get.  The boy moaned softly, raising his hands to his head. 

The figure stopped abruptly.  “Your future…” his breath rasped through the mask, as he turned back towards them.  His goggles glinted in the dim light, but Nyssa couldn’t make out which of them he was looking at.  “Such a shame we cannot know how much - or how _little_ time we have left.  All _too_ little, for some.”

Nyssa looked at him, eyes wide in shock.  “What do you mean?  Is that a threat?”

The Seer drew breath to answer, but was interrupted by a loud groan.  Nyssa looked down.

Adric’s eyes had opened.  

 

 

“Come on Tegan, keep up!”  The Doctor burst through the doors back into the Consular Chamber, stopping momentarily to survey the room before him.  Tegan followed, narrowly avoiding running straight into him.  She too took in the scene they had left but a few short minutes ago.

Bodies were strewn across the wooden floor of the Chamber, their white-robed limbs arranged awkwardly where they had fallen, unconscious, victims of Tegan’s desperate efforts with Morovan’s stun gun.  The Proctor himself lay across the room, quietly moaning, the shoulder of his tunic stained dark with red.   

“Where… where are you going?”

The voice came from somewhere close to the ground.  The Doctor and Tegan looked down to see the crumpled, silk-clad form of Procardinal Jonaris, sat in an undignified heap next to the balcony doorway.  His plump, bejewelled hands shook as he raised them to his trembling mouth, his expression still frozen in shock from being attacked by Adric just a few minutes before.

“To find Nyssa and Adric,” retorted the Doctor, resuming his motion towards the exit, “And get them away from this insanity you’ve created!”

Jonaris spluttered, attempting to rise: “ _I’ve_ created?  How ironic that such an accusation should come from _your_ lips, Herald!  I have only tried to–”

Before the Procardinal could continue, the door from the corridor burst open, and a bedraggled figure lurched through the opening towards them.

“Doctor!  Tegan!  Thank the Keeper!”

“Suren!”  Tegan exclaimed, dashing forward and locking the medic in an enthusiastic hug.  After a moment she released the slightly nonplussed Suren from her embrace, before adding to his surprise by giving him a hearty punch to the shoulder.  “I have seen some pretty stupid things in my time,” she raged, “but that one really takes the biscuit!  What the hell were you thinking?”

The Doctor stepped in: “Ah, what Tegan means to say is - she’s pleased to see you and is very glad that you’re safe.  We both are, in fact.  Now if you’ll excuse us, we are in rather a hurry!”  The Time Lord tried to manoeuvre himself and Tegan through the door, but Suren stopped them.

“Hold on, Doctor!  I just fought my way through a hoard of angry citizens - _twice_ , I might add - to get here, and you’re leaving without me?  And what about the Lady?”

“Yes, well, I’ll explain all that once we’ve–”

“I saw her fall, Doctor!  The whole city saw!  And then she…they…” The medic faltered, lost for words.  

The Doctor grabbed Suren by the shoulders, steadying him.  “We’re dealing with it, don’t worry.  For now, you have a job to do, Medic Suren.”  He indicated the bodies strewn across the room.  “There are people here that need help - the Proctor is injured, several acolytes have been stunned, and Prime Consul Varden–”  The Doctor frowned, looking at the spot where the Serenite leader had fallen.  It was empty.

Tegan followed his gaze.  “Where’s he gone?  I could’ve sworn he was there a minute ago…”

“Well, we haven’t got time to look for him now.”  The Doctor turned to Suren.  “Stay here.  Take care of the injured, and…”  He looked over to where Procardinal Jonaris was struggling to get to his feet:  “Keep _him_ out of trouble.   Think you can handle that?” 

The young medic stammered.  “Well, I - I…”

The Doctor clapped him on the shoulders.  “Good man!  Come on, Tegan!”

“Here,” said Tegan, handing him Morovan’s pistol, “This should help.  And maybe _this_ will too.”  She grabbed Suren’s shirt, pulled him towards her and planted a fervent kiss on his lips.  Then before Suren realised what was happening she had turned and followed the Doctor out of the door.

The medic stood for a moment, mouth agape, in the middle of the casualty-filled room.  He blinked, looked at the gun in his hand, the bodies strewn around him, and then touched his fingers to his lips.  

“A little….” he said to himself, and smiled.

 

 

“Adric!” Nyssa gasped, not entirely sure whether to be relieved or afraid at her friend regaining consciousness.  She tentatively reached down to help him.  “Are you alright?”  

The boy recoiled from her efforts.  

“No - don’t touch me!”  Adric’s voice cracked, and he began to cough violently, turning away from her.  Nyssa tried to touch his shoulder, but he shied away.

“Adric?  It’s me - Nyssa.  Do you remember?”

The Alzarian backed away further still, before scrambling to his feet.  He shook his head, desperately trying to gather his thoughts.  “I… Nyssa?” he asked, confused.  “I - I don’t know what… is this real?  I thought…”

“Thought what?”

Adric looked away, ashamed.  “It seems like a nightmare, but it was so vivid.  I… I remember feeling so _angry_ , and…”  He hid his face in his hands.  “I did things.  Terrible things.” 

Nyssa stepped closer to him.  “It’s alright, Adric.  It wasn’t your fault.”

“But–” he looked at her, his eyes drawn to scratches on her arms, and the faint bruises beginning to appear on the pale skin of her throat, “I hurt you.  I - I tried to kill you.”

“You weren’t yourself,” she soothed, taking another step closer.  “But you’re better now.”  

Adric backed further away.  “Better? How can you know that?”  He looked at his hands, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.  “How do you know it won’t happen again?  That I won’t lose control?”

“Because _I’ve_ seen to that.”  The Seer shuffled forward, the scant light flashing from the dark lenses of the old man’s goggles.  

Adric recoiled, his eyes wide.  

“No need to worry, my young friend,” the Seer chuckled, “I mean you no harm.  The treatment I gave you–”

“Treatment?” asked Adric, “Who are you?  And what do you mean, ‘treatment’?”

“He injected you with something,” explained Nyssa hurriedly, “Just after we arrived here.  He said it would counteract the chemicals you were given by - by whomever it was that took you.”

Adric frowned, shaking his head.  “That doesn’t make sense…”

“But it worked, Adric!  Whoever he is and whatever he did - you’re better now!” Nyssa exclaimed.  She reached out and touched his shoulder, but the boy jerked away from her, his expression darkening as thunder rolled overhead.

The Seer chuckled.  “No, he’s right, my dear.  It doesn’t make sense.  And why is that, young man?”

“Because…” Adric replied, his voice bitter, “because you gave it to me straight away.”  He shakily stepped down from the platform, slowly edging towards the old man.  “No test, no analysis, no diagnosis.  Which means that… that you _already knew_ what they’d given me.”

The Seer nodded encouragingly, seemingly unperturbed by Adric’s slow, brooding movement in his direction.  “Yes, yes!  And…?”

Thunder rumbled again as Adric advanced. The atmosphere in the dimly lit room seemed suddenly heavy, as if charged with electricity; Nyssa watched her friend’s inexorable advance towards the old scientist, the palpable tension building between them crackling like static.  

“And the only way you could know that is if you were _one of them_ ,” the Alzarian growled, clenching his trembling fists.  “One of the people who took me.  Drugged me.” He reached the Seer, and looked down into the old, wrinkled face.  Adric saw a reflection looking back at him from the tinted goggles, but the red-eyed, haggard youth wasn’t someone he recognised; a twisted, angry distortion of a boy he used to know.  The features in the reflected image darkened.  “Turned me into _this._ ”  He grabbed the old man, twisting handfuls of his robes in his fists. 

The Seer gasped, his black-gloved hands scrabbling to grab hold of his assailant’s sinewy arms.

“Adric, no!” shouted Nyssa, “You mustn’t!”

“Stay back, Nyssa!”

“Please, Adric!” she implored, “You don’t know who you’re dealing with!”

The boy looked down at the black gloves gripping his arms, and then back at the opaque lenses just a few inches from his face, his lips curling into a snarl.  

“Oh, I think I can work it out,” he growled.

 

 

Smoke curled upwards from guttering torches, congregating at the ceiling of the underground chamber, swirling above the grey-cowled heads of the kneeling acolytes below.  As their heads bowed in unison, the space resonated with low, rhythmic chants; intoned numbers and formulae overlapping and complimenting each other, the mathematical language of the universe reverberating from the stone walls.  

Brother Byrnus lifted his head, arms raised to the ceiling in rapture.  Opening his eyes, he sensed movement from the archway at the far corner of the room; on seeing the newcomer he quickly got to his feet and moved to greet him.

“Father!” he said, his tone hushed, “I was beginning to worry.”

“Apologies, my friend.  I was unavoidably delayed.”  The older man put a hand against the cold stone of the archway, leaning to support himself.

“Are you unwell, Father?” Byrnus asked, concerned.

A jaded chuckle issued from beneath the Grey Father’s cowl.  “I am fine, Brother; just feeling my age a little.  All the activity of late is taking it’s toll on me, I’m afraid.”

Byrnus took the Father’s arm.  “Come, Father - join in the recitations.  It will calm our bodies and focus our minds ahead of the coming task.”

“That is why I am here, my friend,” replied the older man, putting a gnarled hand on his companion’s shoulder.  “We must begin the final steps.  Prepare the Brethren to move out.  The time of our salvation is at hand.”      

 

 

“You _used_ me,” snarled Adric, knuckles whitening as he tightly grasped the robes of the frightened old man before him, “Just like before.  I’m sick of being a pawn in your sordid little schemes, Time Lord!”  

The Seer gasped as the youth shook him violently.

“Adric, leave him!”  Nyssa cried, pulling at her friend’s arm, “Please - he’s just an old man!”  The boy shrugged her off, pushing her away with a derisory laugh.

“An ‘old man’?  What, like he was on Castrovalva?  I don’t think so, Nyssa.”  He pulled the Seer up until their faces were inches apart, the old man’s feet barely touching the floor.  “Remember Castrovalva?  When you kidnapped and tortured me for days?”  

The old man seemed to nod slightly, his expression unreadable behind his breath mask and goggles, his hands scrabbling at Adric’s arms as he fought to keep himself upright.  Adric’s expression darkened, as memories flooded his troubled mind.

“Well I remember it - _vividly,_ ” he spat. “The agonising pain of a hadron power web isn’t something you can easily forget.  Not when you’re reminded of it every night in your dreams.  I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve woken up screaming with the memory of that pain, the feeling of every nerve ending in my body burning at the twitch of a madman’s fingers…”  Adric grabbed the Seer’s wrist, lifting his black-gloved hand - “ _These_ fingers!  And you expect me to just let him go?”  He shook his head, tears forming in his eyes.  “I don’t think so, Nyssa, not this time.  Not after all he’s done… after everything he’s made _me_ do.”  He threw the old man to the ground; the Seer cried out, his goggles skidding across the room as he impacted on the stone floor.     

“You can’t kill him, Adric,” Nyssa pleaded, “You’re not a murderer!”

Adric looked down at the old man.  “I am what he’s made me,” he said, his voice filled with revulsion.  

“And this is where it ends.”

 

 

The TARDIS console rose and fell, its rhythmic calmness at odds with the frantic activity surrounding it as the Doctor rushed from panel to panel, flicking switches and adjusting controls in rapid fashion.  

“What does it say now?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the dials in front of him.

Tegan frowned at the silver transmat control in her hand.  “What, that trace thingy that you wanted to move up and down?”

“Yes.”

“It’s going side to side.”

“Well, that’s not right,” said the Doctor, scratching his head.  He looked up from the console to the scanner, which was displaying a detailed map of the city below.  “What does the reading on the panel say?”

“Errrr…. 463.7 mega-wotsits.”

“Damn!”  The Time Lord hurried round the console, snatching the control from Tegan’s hands to look at the readings for himself.  

“I thought you said you’d made sure this thing worked?” Tegan questioned, arms folded.

The Doctor hit the side of the device in frustration.  “I did!  Just a few technical issues, that’s all…”  He handed it back to her and resumed his adjustments to the console, which suddenly began to emit a high-pitched whining noise.

“Because if you didn’t,” Tegan shouted above the noise, “then not only have you probably sent Nyssa and Adric into a trap, but you’ve also made sure we have no way of finding them!”  The whine abruptly stopped as part of the console erupted in a shower of sparks.

“Yes, thank you so much for pointing that out, Tegan!”  The Doctor retorted.  “If I may remind you, the only alternative was their imminent and messy death on the paving stones of the Civic Square, so although not ideal, I think I’ll stick with my plan, if you don’t mind?”  He twisted a dial with such a violent flourish that it came off in his hand.  Seeing that Tegan was preoccupied with the control once more, he swiftly put the dial in his pocket, angrily thumped the console, and turned to examine the scanner once again.

“Doctor–”

“Not now, Tegan!”

“But Doc - it’s working!”  She turned the control towards him, an excited smile on her face.  “Look!  Up and down!”  The Doctor peered at the control’s trace pattern, the frustration suddenly melting from his expression.

“Quick - the reading!”

Tegan swiftly looked at the relevant readout.  “821.4 wotsits!”  

The Doctor tapped rapidly on the keyboard, then they both turned and stared at the screen intently.  Two intersecting red lines had appeared, and started to slowly move across the screen.

“Come on…. come on!” 

 

The two lines tracked across the map, then suddenly stopped, the point of their intersection pulsing red and green.

“There!” exclaimed the Doctor, “We’ve got it!” 

 

 

“No!”

Nyssa moved quickly to where the Seer lay, moaning softly and incoherently.  Kneeling down, she picked up the old man’s goggles, turning the delicately machined apparatus over in her hands.  One lens was cracked, but nonetheless intact.  “I won’t let you do this, Adric.”  

“What?” exclaimed Adric incredulously.  “How can _you_ , of all people, say that?  After everything he’s done to you?”

“I…" Nyssa faltered, closing her eyes as the memory of Traken, suddenly obliterated by a malevolent wave of entropy, involuntarily entered her mind.  All those lives… the lives of everyone she had ever known and loved, wiped out of existence in an instant, and now she had the fate of the person responsible in her hands.  Was Adric right?  Did she owe it to the memory of those who had perished to hold their murderer to account?  Did she owe it to her father?  

“Father…” she whispered, screwing her eyes tight as a sudden ache pounded within her head once more.

“Nyssa!” Adric cried, impatiently.

“I can’t," she said sadly, looking down at the goggles in her hands.  “I can’t let you kill him.  All those people on Traken, Logopolis, Castrovalva... and all the other countless worlds he’s destroyed... nothing will ever bring them back, Adric.  Nothing will ever bring my father back.  Kill him, and nothing will change... except _you.”_

She placed the goggles into the Seer’s hand.  He turned to face her, his breath rasping through his mask as he struggled to speak.  

“Help me, child…!” the old man pleaded, a black gloved hand outstretched.  Nyssa stared at his face, then gasped suddenly in shock as she looked into his eyes.  

Eyes that were sharp as crystal, and burning with intelligence.

A sudden sharp pain lanced through Nyssa’s mind; she cried out, recoiling in shock.  Adric reacted at once, leaping to her defence.

“What did you do to her?” he raged, grabbing the Seer’s robes and pulling him roughly to his feet.  He shook the old man violently; “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” 

 

 

The time rotor juddered to a halt as the Doctor flicked a final switch with a flourish.  “Perfect landing!” he announced; “Tegan - activate the scanner, please.”

“We haven’t got time to waste on that,” Tegan protested, “We need to get out there!  Nyssa and Adric could be in danger!”

“And we’ll be no good to them if we stumble blindly into the same trap!” the Time Lord retorted, reaching over the console to activate the switch himself.  

The screen switched from the aerial map to the outside view; Tegan watched as the Doctor’s face immediately fell.

“Oh dear.”

Tegan’s eyes widened.  “What is it?”

The Doctor activated the door control, shouting over his shoulder as he sprinted through the doors.  “No time for questions, Tegan, we need to get out there!”

“But that’s what I just said!” Tegan shouted after him in exasperation, moving to follow him whilst muttering under her breath: “Might as well just talk to yourself Tegan, no-one else listens to a word I say round here, I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t…”    

The scene that greeted her as she exited the safe confines of the TARDIS stopped her mid-tirade.  She had emerged into some kind of low lit, cluttered workshop, the disorder surrounding them spilling over into the scene playing out before her:  Adric seemed to be locked in a violent struggle with an elderly stranger, whilst the Doctor had an arm locked around the boy’s waist in an apparent effort to restrain him; beyond them, Nyssa sat on the floor next to a small raised platform, her head in her hands, eyes shut tight as if in pain.

“What the hell…?” she spluttered, taking it all in.  

The Doctor looked over towards her.  “Tegan!  Help me with Adric!” he cried, his voice straining with exertion.  

She immediately rushed over, locking her hands around Adric’s wrists and trying to pull them from the old man’s throat.  

“Get… off… him!” Tegan grunted, tugging at Adric’s wiry arms.  The Alzarian dug his fingers deeper into the old man’s throat.  “No!” Adric gasped, “you don’t understand!”

“It’s alright, Adric… we’re here to help you!  It’s not your fault!”  Tegan cried.  A deathly rattle emitted from the old man’s breath mask.  “Quick Doctor, do something!  He’s going to choke!” she cried.

“I’m…. _trying_ , Tegan!” he grunted.  “He won’t budge!”

“Rabbits!” she said, letting go of his arms.  She frantically thought back to her airline training on how to subdue unruly passengers, trying to pick an option which would cause the least damage.  “Sorry, Adric,” she said, settling on her choice, “But you are always harping on about how Alzarians heal faster…” and with that she dug the heel of her shoe into the centre of the boy’s foot.

Adric howled in pain, letting go of his victim so suddenly that both he and the Doctor went hurtling across the floor, crashing in a heap amongst one of the the piles of clutter that surrounded the TARDIS.  Tegan ran over to them as Adric struggled to rise; the Doctor reacted quickly, pinning him to the ground.

“Oh no, you don’t!  You stay where you are, young man!”

“No!” the boy protested, “You have to stop him!”

Tegan helped the Doctor to hold him.  “Calm down,” she soothed, “You don’t know what you’re saying.  They’ve done something to you, Adric, but the Doctor will sort you out.”

“But… you don’t understand!” Adric cried, struggling against his friends’ grip.  “It’s him!”  He managed to break an arm free, and pointed over to where the Seer stood.

“It’s the _Master!_ ”

 

 

“Ouch!  Watch what you’re doing, boy!”

“Just keep still.  I need to stop the bleeding.”  Suren continued his ministrations, applying strategic hypospray bursts of coagulant around the periphery of the blaster wound to Proctor Morovan’s upper chest and shoulder.  The procedure complete, he searched through the nearby medikit for a sterilising spray, glancing around the room as he did do.

The Consular Chamber was slowly becoming less like the aftermath of a battle as the medical staff that Suren had called in went about their work, carrying out the unconscious bodies of the stunned acolytes to be treated back at the Infirmary, and righting the disarrayed furniture as they went.  Now only Suren, Proctor Morovan, and Procardinal Jonaris remained.  The latter sat on a cushioned bench at the edge of the room, moaning quietly as he fanned his florid face with a handkerchief.

“There,” announced Suren, pressing a fresh dressing against the Proctor’s wound, “That’ll stem the bleeding until we can get you to the Infirmary.  You’re all done.”

The Proctor cried out in pain at the sudden pressure; Suren quickly rooted around the medikit for a vial of analgesic, putting the pistol that Tegan had given him down to free both hands for the search.  On locating the drug he looked up, momentarily confused to see that the Proctor’s grimace had suddenly morphed into a mocking smile, until he noticed the gun was now in Morovan’s hand and pointing at him.

“Oh no, Medic Suren.  I think you’ll find it’s _you_ that is done.” 

 

 

Silence fell as the meaning of Adric’s words dawned on his friends. Maintaining their grip on the boy they looked at each other, their expressions a mixture of confusion and incredulity.

“That’s impossible, Adric!” said Tegan, dismissively.  “The Master was trapped on Castovalva, you know that.”

“And besides,” agreed the Doctor, “the high technology scan I performed earlier would have picked up another TARDIS in the vicinity.”  He looked at Adric sympathetically.  “I’m sorry, Adric, but you’re just not thinking straight.  Let us help you.”

“I don’t need your help!” Adric retorted, resuming his struggling, “I’m fine now!  Please - you’ve got to stop him!” 

“For cripes sake, Adric, he’s just an old man!” Tegan cried.

“You really should give the boy more credit.”  The low, electronically enhanced voice from across the room caused the struggling trio to pause, each slowly turning to look to its source.  The old man had regained his feet, and now stood side by side with Nyssa on the raised circular platform, one hand poised over a blinking control panel to his right, the other firmly locked around the Trakenite girl’s wrist.  Nyssa swayed where she stood, her expression pained.

“Nyssa?”  The Doctor's brow furrowed.  “Are you alright?”

The Seer smiled behind his breath mask.  “I’m truly sorry to cut this happy reunion short, but I’m afraid Nyssa and I have work to do.  Doctor, Tegan,” he nodded in their direction, “So good to see you both again.  Goodbye!”

The Doctor started forward, all thoughts of restraining Adric left behind.  “What?  Who are you?  Nyssa, what’s going on?”

Nyssa shook her head, tears running down her cheeks.  “I’m sorry, Doctor, I–”

Before she could finish her sentence the Seer keyed the control panel, and with a high-pitched whine of energy the transmat platform activated, enveloping Nyssa and the Seer in a column of intense white light.  

“No!”  The Doctor dived forward, trying in vain to hang on to their rapidly diminishing physical presence, but in the space of a second they were gone, the only evidence of their presence a lingering, ominous chuckle in the air.  

Tegan abandoned her hold on Adric, running over to the platform; the Doctor was already on his feet, frantically jabbing at the control panel.

“What the hell is going on?” Tegan exclaimed. “Doctor, you don’t think it actually was…”

“Come on, come on,” he muttered breathlessly, ignoring her, “There must be a way to reverse the transmission…”  All of a sudden he stopped his efforts, looking at the control panel in confusion.  “Hang on a minute, I think he’s... DOWN!”

Tegan barely had time to react as the Doctor launched himself at her, sending them both flying to the floor.  A split second later, the control panel erupted in a shower of sparks, and a wave of heat washed over their prone bodies as the transmat platform exploded.

“Damn it!” the Doctor shouted, thumping the stone floor in frustration.  Tegan moaned beneath him, causing him to realise - with a rush of embarrassment - that he was still on top of her.  He leapt up, helping his groggy companion to her feet, making sure to keep himself between her and the still-burning platform.

“That was close… are you alright?” he asked, grasping Tegan’s shoulders as she coughed, then nodded.  Smoke billowed into the air behind them; the Doctor looked over his shoulder at the blaze, which was now rapidly taking hold of the far side of the room, glass bottles and flasks popping and shattering in its wake.

The Doctor shook his head.  “He set it to self-destruct on completion of the transmat,” he said bitterly, steering her towards where Adric sat, propped up against the TARDIS.  “I didn’t have time to trace the co-ordinates.  They could be anywhere on the planet by now.”  They reached Adric, who struggled to his feet.  

“Then you should have listened to me!” the boy protested, “We could have stopped him!”

A sudden minor explosion from across the room caused them to duck.  The fire had ignited some electrical equipment, and the flames were beginning to lick at the edge of the adjoining cabinet which housed row upon row of chemical-filled bottles.

“Never mind that now,” the Doctor cried, opening the TARDIS door, “We need to get out of here before the whole place goes up!”  

Adric and Tegan quickly dived inside, the Doctor right on their heels, slamming the door behind him.  Across the room, glassware crashed to the floor; the sound of the TARDIS’s dematerialisation drowned out as the chemicals ignited and the cluttered room became utterly consumed by flames, the colossal fireball momentarily illuminating the night sky above.

 


	12. Transit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Like pilgrims to the appointed place we tend; the world's an inn, and death's the journey's end'

**Chapter 12 - Transit**

 

“Wh - what are you doing?”  Suren’s words echoed around the Consular Chamber as he backed away from the Proctor, his eyes fixed on the gun pointed at his chest.  

Morovan shifted his weight, wincing as he propped himself up on one arm.  “I would think that’s obvious,” replied the Proctor.  “I need to know where the Herald has gone.”

Suren frowned.  “How would I know that?”

“Don’t give me that!” growled Morovan, “I know you’re involved with them.  _Particularly_ involved with the woman, I note.  They must have told you their plans.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Proctor, they told me nothing!  I came directly up here after seeing the Lady’s ascension, and they left a few moments later, without saying where they were going.”

Jonaris sat up, suddenly interested in the conversation.  “What was that about an ‘ascension’?”   

Suren turned to face him.  “I was down in the crowd, with the citizens,” he replied.  “I saw her fall - her and the boy, I mean - and then before they hit the ground, they just… well… disappeared in a blaze of light!”

Jonaris frowned, looking at Morovan, some form of unspoken communication happening between the two of them.  Morovan threw the gun to the Procardinal, who quickly retrained it on Suren.  

“Help me up,” said the stricken Proctor, holding out a hand to Suren.  “We have to move quickly.”  

The medic hauled Morovan to his feet, steadying him as he staggered, weak from loss of blood.  

“I think I might know where they’ve gone.”

“Where?” asked Suren.

“There’s a group I’ve been surveilling for years, that coincidentally seem to have upped their activity in recent weeks, concentrated in a particular area. I had let them continue, thinking that their efforts were futile, but maybe I was wrong in that respect.”

“Really!” blustered Jonaris.  “And why wasn’t I informed of this?”

Morovan laughed bitterly.  “Because I wasn’t sure which side was going to come out on top, of course,” he spat, all pretence at duplicity abandoned.  “But now it looks like I may have chosen poorly.  Our contingency plan is nowhere near ready, and if they have the key to the Source in their grasp…”

“Then we’ll just have to take it back!” bellowed Jonaris, his face florid.  “Instruct Fenravic to recall the cloned infantry, and meet me at the east entrance with suitable transport.  Send him the precise co-ordinates of this group’s location, and you may yet find yourself redeemed for your lack of faith in our cause, Proctor!”

The Proctor stared at the Procardinal, weighing up his options.  After a moment he tapped a series of commands into his wrist communicator, then slumped backwards; Suren steered him to a nearby bench.

“It is done, my Lord,” Morovan panted, sweat glistening on his haggard face as shock began to take hold on his system.

“Good.”  The Procardinal turned to Suren, the blaster in his meaty hand moving to target the medic.  “On your feet, Suren, you’re coming with me.”

“What?  No, my Lord!  I’ve got to get the Proctor to the Infirmary - he could die without immediate medical treatment!”

Jonaris looked down his nose at Morovan.  “Really?  A good job he has outlived his usefulness then.  Now move!” he snarled, jabbing the gun into Suren’s ribs. 

The Proctor gave a bitter laugh.  “Better do as he says, son,” he rasped.  “As you can see our venerated Procardinal has no qualms about killing in cold blood.”

Suren looked at the stricken Proctor, then turned to Jonaris, his face set in determined defiance.  “No.  I am a man of medicine, my Lord, as my father was before me.  I will _not_ leave this man to die.”

The Procardinal considered for a moment, then sneered: “So be it.”  Raising the energy pistol, he fired at Suren, who crumpled to the floor in an undignified heap.  “Not a good time to develop a backbone, Medic Suren,” he growled, regarding his handiwork with grudging satisfaction, before turning back towards his former subordinate.

“Goodbye, Morovan.”  The cleric’s words were heavy with irony; “May the Lady have mercy on your soul.”  With that, he headed towards the exit and out into the corridor beyond.

The Proctor lay back on the bench and closed his eyes, energy spent, his faint whisper barely audible.

“I’ll see you in hell, Jonaris…”

 

 

Nyssa blinked, her vision slowly returning as the brightness of the transmat faded.  She moved to wipe the tears from her eyes, only to find her right arm still restricted by the black-gloved hand of her elderly captor.

“Leave me alone!” she cried, snatching her hand away from his grasp, backing away from the wizened figure on the platform beside her.  “Don’t touch me!”  

She looked around, gathering her bearings. They had materialised at one end of a vast room, sparsely illuminated and filled with row upon row of desks and instrumentation panels.  The air was stale; it caught in her throat and caused her to cough.  Dust floated through the scattered beams of light like silt disturbed from an ocean floor, stirred into motion by the frantic activity across the room as a number of grey-robed figures moved between the desks, tapping at keyboards and exchanging data.  

“What is this place?” Nyssa gasped.

The Seer stepped forward, smiling.  “It is the birthplace of the new world, my dear.  From here, the Source will be reborn, and the dawn it provides will see Serenity enter a new age, free from the tyranny of the Order.”

Nyssa shook her head in disgust.  “Freedom from one tyranny, to be replaced by another!  And this one backed by an ultimate, omniscient power, held in your black-gloved hand!”

The Seer looked hurt.  “What in all the galaxy would make you think that, child?  You, of all people, know me better than that.”

   “I know what I’ve seen here,” she replied, touching pale fingers to her temple as an ache resurfaced in her mind once more - “what I’ve _felt._ The people of this world are suffering, whilst you sit and watch.  My father would have done something, moved heaven and earth to help–”

“Tremas is long gone, my dear,” the Seer interrupted, shaking his head. “Nothing of him remains.”

Nyssa clenched her fists.  “ _I_ remain!” she cried, “As do _you_.  There’s a part of him inside you somewhere, deep down, I know there is.  He would be appalled at the things you have done here… appalled and ashamed, as am I.”

The old man smiled beneath his mask.  “You will understand, child, one day.”

“Children starving?  People living under oppression?  I’ll never understand that, believe me.  Not to mention what you’ve done to Adric…”

“Ah, yes… the boy.”  The Seer nodded.  “Unfortunate, I agree, but a necessity.  As it was, so must it be.”

Nyssa started forward, unable to contain her anger: “Why you callous, cold-hearted–”

The Seer backed away, signalling to two grey-clad men stood silently to one side.  They moved forward in unison, grabbing Nyssa by the arms and pulling her away from the elderly figure. 

“No!  Let go of me!”  She struggled wildly.  “I won’t help you in this, you realise that, don’t you?  I refuse to be a part of this!”

“Oh, but you already are, my dear.  A most vital part, in fact.”  The guards dragged her over to the door of a transparent chamber at the end of the room, a massive tube that ran from floor to ceiling, connected to a mass of equipment and heavy-duty power cables at each end.  They snaked organically across the floor and walls, like the roots and branches of a huge, metallic tree.  Nyssa fell to her knees as the guards threw her into the chamber, slamming the heavy door behind her and sealing her in.  She got to her feet, and hammered on the glass surrounding her, shouting to be released, but the sound couldn’t penetrate through the thick walls.

The Seer looked at the chronometer on his wrist.  “Now the only thing that remains… is the Doctor.”       

 

 

“So if we don’t know where Nyssa’s been taken, where are we going?”  Tegan asked, as the Doctor moved around the console, his seemingly haphazard flicking and pressing of switches setting the TARDIS into motion once more.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” admitted the Doctor, looking up as the central column began to rise and fall.  “But I do know that we need to get away from here.  I’ve put the TARDIS in a holding pattern for the moment.  Adric, do you know where–”  

He looked around, to find the boy sat in the furthest corner of the console room, his head in his hands.  The Doctor moved over him, crouching down to his level.  “Adric?” he said, gently.  “Are you alright?”  

Adric avoided his gaze.  “I’m fine.”

“Look Adric, I’m sorry… I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, and–”

“I said I’m fine!” Adric retorted, his frustration immediately overcome by guilt as his flash of anger caused the Doctor to visibly recoil.  “Listen,” he began more calmly, “the Master injected me with something back there and… well, I don’t know what it was but it… it brought me back to myself.  You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re OK,” said Tegan from across the console, “but it’s Nyssa we need to worry about right now, Doc.  What are we going to do?”

The Doctor looked at Adric.  “I don’t suppose you remember anything of where they took you?”  

Adric shook his head.  “It’s all a blur, really, and from what I do remember… I’m not really sure what was real and what wasn’t.”  

The Doctor considered this for a moment, then stood up abruptly, holding his hand out to the Alzarian.  Adric hesitated, then took the proffered hand, allowing the Doctor to drag him to his feet.  He shrugged off the white robe and threw it to the floor, then carefully straightened his star-shaped badge.

“Right,” the Doctor said, whipping out his half-moon spectacles and approaching the console with fresh determination, “If it _is_ the Master we’re dealing with then presumably his TARDIS is around here somewhere, albeit disguised or we would have picked it up on the scan we did earlier.  But a TARDIS, as you know, has an immense energy signature, so it’s very difficult to hide completely, particularly from another TARDIS.”  He paused, and pointed at a section on the other side of the console, “Now Adric, if you could just set the temporal energy capacitor to maximum, and then keep your eye on the helmic regulator levels, I’ll set up an artron energy burst.”

“What will that do?” asked Adric.

“It’ll send a pulse out through the atmosphere - harmless to any organic matter of course, but where it meets another artron energy source it should bounce back at a detectable level, even if the energy signature is masked in some way.”  The Doctor pushed past Tegan to get to the console’s keyboard, where he began entering commands at a furious pace.  

“What can I do, Doctor?” asked Tegan, baffled by pretty much everything the Time Lord had just said, but anxious to help.

“Ah… if you could watch the scanner please, and see if you can identify any artron resonance?”

Tegan looked at him, raising her eyebrows.  “And in English, that means…?”

The Doctor closed his eyes and frowned, taking a few seconds to translate the complexities of the energies involved in fifth-dimensional temporal mechanics into language that a twentieth-century Earthling could understand.  “Er - shout if it goes ‘ping’?”

“Gotcha!” said Tegan.  She turned to the scanner, which now showed something akin to an air-traffic control radar screen, her face set in concentration.

“Ready Adric?”

“Ready.”

“Right,” said the Doctor, “I’m going to activate the energy burst.  Hang on to something, there might be a little jolt…!”  He pressed a button.

Tegan let out an involuntary scream as the TARDIS lurched violently beneath them, nearly knocking all three of them off their feet.  An alarm sounded across the console.

“Adric, get that!” the Doctor shouted, fighting to steady their flight, “It’s just the lateral balance cone misalignment warning.  Tegan - anything?”

Tegan gripped on to the edge of the console, struggling to regain her balance.  “Hang on… I can’t see!”  The Doctor yanked a lever, and the floor steadied somewhat.  Tegan refocussed on the scanner, to see a ring of light pulsating outward from the centre point, expanding further and further until…

“Tegan?”

“Nothing,” she said, dejected.  “There’s nothing out there.  We’ve lost her.”

 

 

The crowd in the Civic Square, far from dissipating after the disappearance of the Lady, seemed to have grown in size… and worsened in temperament.  The recent withdrawal of the Order’s troops had only exacerbated the situation, as evidenced by the frightened faces of the remaining Fosters.  Violence had broken out in numerous pockets across the square, spreading like a cancer as factions formed and faced off against each other, infecting the surrounding citizens and drawing them in to the conflict.  Screams and shouts filled the air, as innocent people cried out in pain, inadvertently crushed by those trying to flee the madness.

“Von! Help me!”

The couple from the Foster’s Rest were stood at the east end of the square, close to the Civic Hall, where they had remained after helping Suren through the crowd.  They had been mercifully unaffected by the disorder, but in the past few minutes had noticed the pressure rapidly increasing as the weight of the crowd pushed towards them.  Rosa cried out to her husband, panic written across her flushed face.

“I - I can’t breathe!”

The big man pushed towards her, trying to lift her free from the crush.  “Come on lass, up you come!”  He pulled her upwards with a grunt, somehow managing to lift her clear of the melee and onto his hefty shoulders.  She sagged forwards, gasping for air.  Von tried to turn and look at her.

“Rosa?  Are you alright, love?”

The barmaid nodded, still breathless; after a few moments her face paled somewhat and she regained her voice.  “I’m alright… thanks to you,” she panted, “I thought that was me done for, Von, I really did.”  Rosa straightened,  wiping the tears from her cheeks.  “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Von nodded, sweat pouring down his face from the effort of trying to stay upright with Rosa’s added weight into the bargain.  “You won’t find me arguing, lass - can you see a way out?”

Rosa looked around: there was nothing but a sea of people behind them, meaning the only viable escape route was forward.  She turned to look towards the Hall.  “Hey, what’s happening over there?” she said, pointing in the direction of the east entrance.  

“What?” asked Von.  He strained his neck to see, but couldn’t make anything out through the crowd.

“It’s the Procardinal!  He’s leaving - there’s a whole load of the Order with him, and they’re getting into transports and moving off.  They don’t look best pleased.”  She shook her head.  “Something’s going on, you mark my words, Von.”

Her words turned the heads of the people closest to her, starting a ripple effect spreading outwards through the crowd around them, murmured uncertainty swelling into heated shouts and cries.  The convoy of transports began to move away, slowly pushing their way through the throng, their armoured bodywork resounding every so often with the clang of missiles hurled in their direction.  As they picked up speed the crowd noticeably thinned behind them, the beleaguered citizens osmotically filling the space and being carried along with them. 

“Come on!” Von shouted up to his wife, “We’re going.”  

 

  

“So what do we do now, Doctor?” 

The Doctor stared at the scanner, then thumped the console with his fist.  “I was sure that would work!” he said, his voice a mixture of anger and bewilderment as he refocussed on the console, muttering to himself.  “It should have worked… why didn’t it work?”

Tegan tried to drag him out of his self-diagnostic loop.  “So back when you were on Traken, how did the Master hide his TARDIS then?”

The Doctor appeared not to hear her, continuing to mumble under his breath.

“He disguised it as a statue,” supplied Adric, “the Melkur.  It must have been much more sophisticated than the Doctor’s TARDIS - it could walk, for a start.”

“OK,” Tegan mused, “so could he have done the same thing here?”

“I think the artron burst would have picked it up, whatever shape it was.  Isn’t that right, Doctor?” Adric asked.

The Doctor was staring at the scanner, absent-mindedly chewing on the arm of his spectacles.  Something wasn’t right here, he could feel it, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  The nebulous feeling melted away as he realised he was being spoken to.  “Hmm?  Oh, yes, that’s right Adric.  So either the Master’s TARDIS isn’t here, or…”

“Or we just can’t find it.”  Tegan interrupted.  “In either case, we’re back to square one.  Nyssa’s in the hands of a madman, and we’re… nowhere.”  She folded her arms, her face betraying her frustration at their lack of progress in locating their friend.

The Doctor frowned.  ‘Nowhere…’ he thought, ‘Just like Traken.’  His impotence there had contributed to the obliteration of the entire Union, and now his failures here had put Nyssa in mortal danger…

“Of course!  Traken!” he cried suddenly, startling his companions.  He turned to Adric.  “What was the Master after on Traken?”

The boy frowned.  “The Source?”

“Correct!”  The Doctor pointed at Adric, excitedly punctuating his sentence, before turning to Tegan.  “And what do we know about Serenity?”

Tegan thought for a moment, remembering her conversations with Suren.  “Er… it’s where the Source was created?”

“Exactly!”  The Doctor exclaimed.  He rushed around the console, his hands a flurry of motion once more.  Tegan looked at Adric, who shared her confused expression.

“But the Source was destroyed!” said Adric.

“And Nyssa and Suren said that Serenity doesn’t have enough resources or energy to rebuild it,” continued Tegan.  “So why would he come here now?”

“Because,” replied the Doctor, “he’s brought that energy with him.”

Adric gasped in realisation - “His TARDIS!  And that’s why there’s no artron resonance, because he’s using all the energy up to try to recreate the Source!”

“Or converting it into non-artron energy somehow,” agreed the Doctor.  “So now all we need to do is find out where the facility is that he’s using…”  He moved over to the TARDIS databank, and started keying in a search.  “It’s a long shot, but perhaps the annals of the Traken Union will tell us where it was originally created.”

This time it was Tegan’s turn to gasp.  “Rabbits!”

“Tegan?”

“I know where it is!” she retorted, annoyed with herself.  “Suren took me there, when Nyssa was in the Infirmary and you were looking for Adric.  Why didn’t I realise sooner?”

“Don’t worry about that now; do you think you’ll be able to find it again?”

Tegan nodded determinedly.  “You bet your life, Doc!”

“Right,” said the Time Lord, setting the TARDIS into motion once more, “We’re on our way!”

 

  

The darkness in the small, deserted room was near complete, the only illumination coming from the edges of the single door, slightly ajar, throwing scant light onto dust-covered benches and cabinets that had sat undisturbed for untold years.  In the space of a heartbeat this state of shadowy calm was completely shattered as a brief storm of blue light and otherworldly sound heralded the arrival of the TARDIS, its forcible reentry into reality stirring dust and air into motion as it solidified with a dull ‘thud’.  

A moment later the outer door opened, the blond head of the Doctor popping into view.  He quickly scanned the room, satisfying himself of its lack of occupants before signalling his companions to follow him outside.  Tegan emerged, immediately breaking into a cough as she inhaled the stuffy atmosphere; the Doctor, now over by the door, turned and silently signalled for her to be quiet.  Tegan nodded, hands clamped over her mouth as she regained control of her breathing.  Adric joined them, moving over to where the Doctor stood, peeping through the slim gap in the door.

“Are we in the right place?” he whispered. 

The Doctor paused for a moment, considering what he could see of the room beyond, then nodded.  “I think so,” he replied in a similarly hushed tone, “We seem to be in an antechamber to what looks like the control room that Tegan described.  There looks to be some activity at the other end of the room, but I can’t quite make it out.  It’s all quiet down this end, though.”  

“Can you see Nyssa?” asked Tegan, trying to peer over the Doctor’s shoulder.

“No, not yet.  We need to get closer before we can formulate a plan.  Are you both ready?”  The Doctor’s two young companions nodded in silent affirmation.  

“Right.  Follow me.”

The Doctor opened the door gently, and the trio moved silently into the control room, crouching behind the empty banks of desks for cover.  They had covered about a third of the room before the Doctor silently signalled for them to stop, whereupon they hunkered down behind a large instrumentation panel.  The Doctor tentatively peeped round the edge.

“Can you see anything?” whispered Tegan.

“Hang on…” the Doctor waited for a few moments more, before pulling his head back into their hiding place, a demoralised expression on his face.  “Do you want the good news, or the bad news?”

“Good,” replied Adric and Tegan, simultaneously.

“Well the good news is, I can see Nyssa… and she appears unharmed.”

“Great!  And the bad news…?”

The Doctor sighed in frustration.  “There are approximately fifty men between us and her, and I don’t currently have any idea of how to get past them.”

 

 

“Wake up!  Come on, boy - for Keeper’s sake!  Wake up!”

Suren groaned, groggily shaking his head.  “What…”  He put his hand to his head, wincing as the motion caused pain to flare through his left shoulder.  “Ahhhh… what happened?” he groaned.

Proctor Morovan sat next to the medic, propped up against a bench; an open medikit rested in his lap, half its contents spilled across the floor.  He picked up a packet, ripped it open with his teeth, and reached over with his uninjured arm to slap the patch contained inside onto Suren’s neck.  “You were stunned,” he said, his voice hoarse; “Lucky for you Jonaris isn’t a good shot; he just caught you with a glancing blow to the shoulder, enough to knock you out, but not for long.  That stim patch will help you come round.” 

Suren struggled to a sitting position, already beginning to feel the stimulant rushing through his veins, banishing the numbness from his extremities and the grogginess from his mind.  He looked around the room: the Procardinal was nowhere to be seen.  “Where did he go?” he asked.

“Off to start a civil war, I think,” replied Morovan, matter-of-factly.  

“What?!”

The Proctor groaned as he tried to move, the effort causing pain to lance through the blaster wound to his chest and shoulder.  “The faction that holds the Lady possesses the key to the Source… our dear Procardinal will want to make sure that’s _his_ faction, and he has a sizeable cohort of cloned soldiers at his command to back up his claim.”  He held his uninjured arm out to Suren.  “Come on,” he grunted, “we need to get moving.”

Suren looked at him in disbelief.  “What in all the Union makes you think I would help you?  You were pointing a gun at me five minutes ago!”

Morovan coughed, wincing.  “Oh, don’t take that to heart, boy.  We’re on the same side now,” he laughed scornfully.  

  “‘ _The same side_ ’?  I’m not sure you know which side you’re on, Proctor.  Tell me, is it difficult keeping track of who you’re working for from one minute to the next?”  Suren got to his feet, turning his back on the stricken man and heading towards the Prime Consul’s desk.  Whether the Proctor was a traitor or not, Suren still had a medical duty to fulfil; he activated the comms station contained in the desk and keyed for the Infirmary.  

“I have only ever acted for the good of the people of Serenity,” Morovan called after him. 

The medic paused, and the Proctor continued. 

“Jonaris and Varden have grown too powerful.  Between them, they hold sway over every aspect of our lives, and such power must not remain unchecked.”  He coughed again, wiping blood from his lips.  Looking down at the red stain on his fingers, he smiled, holding them up to Suren.  “There’s blood on my hands, I’ll admit,” he said, “but everything I have done was to earn their trust, and in doing so, to position myself so as to bring them down if necessary.”  

The comms unit bleeped; Suren stared at the Proctor for a moment, then spoke into the receiver:  “This is Medic Suren in the Consular Chamber.  I have one more patient for immediate medical assistance and evac.  Blaster wound and substantial blood loss.”  The comm squawked in acknowledgement, and Suren returned his gaze to Morovan.  “The only place we’re going is to the Infirmary.  You’re not fit for anything else… especially not for the position you hold.”

The Proctor laughed bitterly.  “You know nothing, boy.  I’m a policeman, and a good policeman serves the _people_ , not the interests of those in power.”  He coughed, his breath rattling in his chest.  “If you take me out of the game now,  then whichever side wins, the people of Serenity will lose.”

“The ‘ _game’?_ ” cried Suren, “Is that all this is to you?” 

“What is a game, if not one side pitted against the other?  The only difference is the prize at stake!”

“But you seem to be playing by a different rulebook.”  The medic thought for a moment, then shook his head decisively.  “You’ve proven yourself unworthy of trust.  We must put our faith in the Lady… and the Doctor.”

“An admirable choice, boy, but - to labour this tiresome analogy - I don’t think they’re aware of exactly who they’re playing with.”  He struggled to rise once more, pulling himself with some difficulty into a seated position.  “You have to help me, Suren.  It’s the only way.”

 

 

“What’s going on now?”  Adric whispered, still hunched next to Tegan in their makeshift hiding place in the vast control room.  The Doctor was peering around the edge of the bank of desks, watching the bustling proceedings at the far end of the room.  As far as he could tell, a proportion of the grey-clad workers had finished their activities around the base of the large transparent tube that currently imprisoned Nyssa, and were now running tests on the complex set of wiring they had put in place.  Another group were at the foremost control desks, working at flickering monitors that were alive with reams of numerical and graphical data.  Still more were arranged in front of the tube, and seemed to be meditating or praying.  The diminutive figure of the Seer stood alone on the dais, surveying the operations before him whilst periodically consulting a device on his wrist.  The Doctor contemplated the scene, then turned back to his companions.

“They’ve connected Nyssa up to some sort of apparatus down at the far end of the room.  She’s held in a kind of chamber; I don’t know what the purpose of it is yet but I don’t like the look of it one bit.  Their preparations seem to be coming to an end - we need to get her out of there, and the sooner the better.”  He looked at Adric, considering the young Alzarian for a moment.  “Adric, I need you to do something for me.”

The boy looked back at him, his snub-nosed face earnest.  “Of course, Doctor, what is it?”

“I need you to quietly make your way back to the ante-room where we landed.  It looked as though it could have been a cloakroom in the past - if we’re lucky there may be some of those grey robes of theirs in one of the lockers.  We’re going to need a disguise if we’re to get through all those acolytes.”

Adric looked puzzled for a moment.  “But surely Tegan can–”

The Doctor cut him off, gently putting a hand on his shoulder.  “This needs a stealthy approach, Adric.  You were an Outler back on Alzarius, you’re much more skilled and experienced than Tegan at this sort of thing.”

Adric considered this, then nodded silently.  

The Doctor clapped him on the shoulder.  “Good man.  Off you go, we’ll be waiting for you here.”  The boy turned and slowly began to pick his way back through the dusty furniture in the direction of the TARDIS.

Tegan raised an eyebrow at the Doctor.  “You don’t fool me, Doc.  I could just as easily have done that,” she said in a low voice.  “You want him out of the way.”

“Not exactly Tegan.  it’s just…”

“What?”

The Time Lord sighed, looking back to where Adric crept his way across the darkened room.  “He’s been through a lot since we arrived on Serenity, mostly at the hands of the people in this room, if my contact at the Foster’s Rest is to be believed.”  He turned back to Tegan.  “You saw what he was like in the Consular Chamber, and then in the Seer’s lab.  Rassilon knows what these people have done to him, but I can’t risk them destabilising and using him again.  It won’t help Nyssa, and it’s not fair to Adric.” 

Tegan regarded the Time Lord with something approaching admiration.  “I was wrong,” she said with a momentary smile.  “Looks like you _do_ have a heart after all.”

“I have my moments,” the Doctor replied, before focussing on the task in hand.  “Right.  We need a distraction.”  He turned to the equipment currently shielding them, opened a panel at the base of the unit, and began to tentatively poke around in the dusty innards.

 

 

The Seer stood on the dais, a still point in the centre of a maelstrom of activity as his grey-robed followers worked quickly and diligently to bring the ancient machinery in the room back to life.  One by one the aged panels of instrumentation lit up, controls and monitors flickering and blinking as energy flowed through their systems once more, waking them from their centuries-long slumber.  

“Not long now, old friend.”  The voice came from behind him; the Seer’s gaze remained fixed on the room ahead, his wrinkled face breaking into a smile behind his breath mask.

“My dear Father,” his electronic voice rasped, “I’ve been expecting you.”

The younger man stepped forward, his head covered by his grey cowl as always.  “Of course you have.  You have the advantage in that respect.”  He moved to stand next to the Seer, following his gaze across the room.  “The preparations are almost complete.  The dawn is on its way; tonight we shall see the long-awaited end of the Order, and a new beginning for Serenity.”

The old man nodded, and consulted the device at his wrist.  “Indeed, my friend.  You have waited a long time for this, I know.  You patience will be duly rewarded, have no fear… however we are still missing a vital component.”

The Grey Father turned towards him.  “I understood from Brother Byrnus that everything was in place,” he said, suddenly concerned.  “What more is required?” 

The Seer chuckled.  “Oh, don’t fret, my dear Father.”  He looked out across the room, as if searching for something.  “Everything is in hand…”

 

 

“Ouch!” 

The Doctor hastily pulled his hand out of the access panel as something inside fizzed and sparked, examining the scorched ends of his fingers as Tegan wafted away the acrid smoke that drifted from the hole.

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” the Doctor whispered, frowning in concentration.  “There’s definitely energy running through these circuits, which is good.  And if these controls do what I think they do, so much the better… so what we need now is something loud and visible.”

“But won’t that lead them right to us?” Tegan challenged. 

The Doctor gave an impatient sigh.  “Yes, Tegan, but we won’t be here, will we?  The plan is to bring them over here whilst we make our way across the opposite side of the room, shielded by that array of distribution transformers over there,” he pointed to a row of equipment that Tegan couldn’t distinguish from the rest of the overly-complicated machinery in the room; “Then we can creep up behind those huge power lines right up to where Nyssa is held, hopefully managing to release her and find cover whilst her captors are busy dealing with the coolant leakage.”

“What coolant leakage?”

The Doctor smiled.  “This one!” he said, twisting a bundle of wires together and then reaching up to push a series of sliders to maximum.  Almost immediately, clouds of white gas began furiously venting from a series of outlets in the ceiling above them, as the sound of alarms began to fill the air.  “Go!” shouted the Doctor, and he pushed Tegan into motion, following her rapid crawl to the far side of the room.

 

 

Adric opened the last of the lockers in the small ante-room that housed the TARDIS, frowning as he saw that it too was empty, save for a light covering of cobwebs from its resident spiders.  Frustrated, he slammed the door closed; his expression suddenly turned from anger to one of surprise as alarm sirens immediately broke out from the other side of the ante-room door.  He rushed to the door, opening it slightly, only to be greeted by an impenetrable cloud of white gas billowing towards him.  Unable to see beyond it, and uncertain as to its toxicity, he slammed the door closed, turning to lean on it heavily as he wondered out loud what had gone wrong.

“Damn it, Doctor - what have you done now?” 

 

 

“What the…?”  Brother Byrnus looked up from his monitor at the sound of the alarms, then keyed an enquiry into the system.  He transferred the resultant schematic onto his data pad, and after sending a number of his colleagues running towards the smoke-filled rear of the room, he rushed up to where the Grey Father stood on the dais, together with his aged companion.

“It’s the coolant system, Father, something must have ruptured and–” he stopped as the Seer held up a withered hand.

“It will be quickly repaired, Brother, have no fear.  But I wonder if I could perhaps borrow a number of your colleagues for another urgent matter?  I believe we have some… ‘visitors’.”

Byrnus looked at the Grey Father momentarily, unsure of how to proceed.  His superior inclined his cowled head, and Byrnus turned and beckoned towards his nearest brothers. 

 

 

The Doctor peeped over the large silver pipe that snaked in front of them, quickly ducking down as a group of acolytes ran past within feet of where he and Tegan had momentarily concealed themselves.  

“All clear?” she asked, hopefully.

“Not exactly,” the Doctor answered.  “Let’s give it a few more seconds and then–”

“And then you’ll get up, turn around, and put your hands on your head!” 

The Doctor looked at Tegan, then screwed his eyes closed in frustration.  Tegan cautiously poked her head out of their hiding place to see several grey-clad men pointing energy rifles in their direction.  She turned back to the Doctor.

“Well,” she said resignedly, “we got further than I thought we would.”

  “It’s so refreshing to know you have such faith in me, Tegan,” the Doctor replied, getting to his feet and holding a hand out to her.  “Come on, you know the drill by now.”  

She took his hand, and he gently pulled her to her feet.

“Off by heart,” Tegan replied, putting her hands on her head as the acolytes encircled them, their rifles primed and ready.  “Let’s go.”

 

 

Nyssa’s breath condensed into mist against the wall of her perspex prison, her hands pressed against the curved glass as she watched her companions being reluctantly marched towards the dais.  After her attention had been caught by the rather spectacular coolant leakage at the back of the room, and hoping against hope that it had something to do with the Doctor, she had watched intently for any sign of her companions; finally she had noticed their stealthy progress across the room, and held her breath as they picked their way through the equipment, willing them to evade capture and come to her aid.  As the group of armed acolytes made their way towards their hiding place she hammered on the glass, shouting in a vain attempt to alert her friends to their impending capture, but to no avail.  Her hopes of rescue faded, dissipating into nothingness like the clouds of coolant escaping into the air across the room.  Refusing to let despair overcome her, Nyssa clenched her fists, and began to hammer on the glass once more as the group escorting the Doctor and Tegan approached.  She might be trapped, but her friends were walking into a danger they knew nothing about.  She had to warn them.

“Tegan!” she shouted, her voice echoing around the cylindrical chamber, her fists pummelling the glass.  “Tegan, can you hear me?”

Her friends mounted the steps ahead of their armed entourage.  Tegan immediately looked in Nyssa’s direction, anxious to make sure her friend was unharmed.  Seeing the Trakenite frantically trying to get her attention, she altered her course suddenly, running over to the chamber before the guards could react.  Tegan put her hands up to Nyssa’s on the other side of the glass; she began to speak but the thick barrier between them muted her words.  Nyssa shook her head in frustration.

“Tegan, I can’t hear you!” she shouted; the guards had nearly caught up to the Australian woman, leaving Nyssa only a few seconds to warn her of the danger they were in.  “Tegan, please try and understand, there’s so little time!  Tell the Doctor, it’s not–”

 

 

“What?”  Tegan slapped the glass in frustration, desperately trying to make out what the Trakenite was trying to tell her.  “Nyssa - I can’t understand you!  What–”

Their frantic attempt at communication was cut short as the guards reached Tegan, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her back to where the Doctor stood, held at gunpoint in front of the Seer and his grey-cowled companion.  She looked back at Nyssa, who was still shouting silently in her perspex cell, eyes locked on Tegan as she tried to get her message across.  

“No… I can’t - _get off me!_ ”  She squirmed in the acolytes’ grasp, trying in vain to free her arms.

“Steady, Tegan,” the Doctor said as she was hauled next to him, “I’m sure our hosts mean us no harm, including Nyssa,” he turned towards the two figures before them.  “Isn’t that right?”

The Grey Father remained still, unmoved by the Doctor’s exhortation, his expression hidden in the darkness of his hood.  His elderly mentor, on the other hand, inclined his head in a nod, a smile faintly detectable behind his breath-mask.  Encouraged by the response, the Doctor continued.

“I’m the Doctor, by the way - I’m sorry we haven’t been formally introduced, but you were in rather a rush when we met briefly before.  I’d offer you a handshake, but you have me at somewhat of a disadvantage.”  The Doctor indicated the guards either side of him, who had a tight grip on his arms.  

With a black-gloved hand, the Seer motioned to the guards, who immediately released the pair and stepped back.

“Thank you,” said the Doctor, with a smile, “I do find being held at gunpoint tends to restrict the conversation somewhat.”

The Seer inclined his head once more.  “You’re welcome, old friend.”  

The Doctor raised his eyebrows.  “‘Old friend’, eh?  In my experience, old friends don’t try to blow each other up!  That explosion in your lab nearly killed us,” he accused.

“I knew you would prevail, Doctor… you always do,” the Seer rasped, thinking for a moment before correcting himself: “Well, _almost_ always.”  He held his hand out for the Time Lord to shake.  The Doctor took it, examining the black glove.

“Well, ‘ _old_ friend’, why don’t we just drop the charade, hmm?  I know who you are.”  The Doctor dropped the Seer’s hand in disgust.  “Your disguises are getting worse, by the way - this one’s practically the same as the Portreeve on Castrovalva - minus the beard, I admit - and while we’re on that subject, how exactly did you escape from there?”

“Castrovalva?”  The Seer paused for a moment.  “That was such a long time ago.”  He shook his head, chuckling.  “You are mistaken, Doctor.  But no matter… you are here, and the circle is almost complete.”

“If you think I’m completing anything for you, _you’re_ the one who’s mistaken, Master!”  The Doctor punctuated his retort with a pointed finger, then looked towards Nyssa, still banging on the curved glass, still desperately trying to tell them something.  He turned back to the Seer.  “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage to the people of the Traken Union?  To _Nyssa?_ ”

The Seer smiled calmly.  “ _I_ have done no harm to the Union or its people–”

“And you can stop that game too,” the Doctor interrupted.  “Ever since we landed here I have been the subject of unfounded accusations designed to distract me from what’s really going on around here, and I refuse to be subjected to it any longer!”

“And what exactly do you think _is_ going on, Doctor?” the Seer enquired, calmly.

Tegan stepped in before the Doctor could answer. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?  You had a crack at the Source on Traken, failed dismally, and now you’re back for another go, only you plan to use Nyssa as your Keeper this time.  Well it won’t work!” she cried, hands on her hips.  

The Seer spread his gloved hands wide in a gesture of innocence.  “I am not here to seize the Source, nor to destroy it.  I seek only to recreate it, not for myself, but for the benefit of all on Serenity.”

“Of course you do,” Tegan’s voice dripped with sarcasm.  “And I’m Dame Edna.”     

The old man’s harsh electronic chuckle echoed around the room.  “I had forgotten how baffling Earthlings were,” he laughed.  “But I assure you my dear, my intentions are true.  I have lived a very long life, and I fear I am reaching the end of my time in this existence.  I would like to give something back before I die.”

“You’ve died before,” said the Doctor, “Many times.  I don’t recall such altruism on those occasions, and I find it hard to believe now.”  He paced about in front of the Seer, his eyes fixed on the small figure.  “In any case, all of this is academic.  The recreation of the Source would require a massive input of energy; I don’t see your TARDIS anywhere, and without it you have no power source.  It seems your plan is missing a vital component."

“Once again, you are mistaken, my dear Doctor,” the Seer smiled.  “The energy required is right here in front of you, only you’re too blind to see it.  In fact it is only because of you that I am in a position to utilise it.  I, and the people of Serenity, will be eternally grateful to you.”  Bowing in deference, he continued: “However, you are correct in one respect: I _am_ missing something.”  He held out his leather-clad hand.  “The key to your TARDIS, please.”

 

 

The convoy of transports rumbled along the road, their heavy wheels churning through mud and pools of rainwater from the earlier storm, tossing up spray as they splashed their way through.  The rain had once more abated, the darkness of the clouds giving way to a suggestion of light from the east, a tentative hint of the sunrise to come.  

Procardinal Jonaris sat in the lead transport, his bloated fingers drumming against the arm rest at his side.  He leaned forward to speak to the driver.

“How long until our destination?”

The driver consulted his dashboard, then half-turned to address the cleric.  “Not long, my Lord.  The mud is slowing the rear transports somewhat, but we should get there within the next five minutes.”

“That’s not good enough!”  Jonaris’ meaty fist connected with the seat in front.  “The future of Serenity is at stake here, man - increase your speed!”

“Yes, my Lord.”  The driver sighed, but communicated the command to the rest of the convoy, and slowly increased the throttle.  Mud splattered on the windscreen as they surged along the waterlogged road at a faster pace, the wipers working to their maximum to clear it.  

Highbishop Fenravic, who was sat opposite the Procardinal, nodded to the rear viewport.  Well, that should enable us to outdistance _them_ , at any rate.”

Jonaris frowned.  “What are you blathering on about now, Fenravic?”

“The crowd following us.”  The Highbishop indicated to the rear once more.  “They’ve been keeping pace with us since the Civic Square.  The citizens, I presume,” he added, redundantly.

“What?!” Jonaris fumed, straining to see where his subordinate was indicating.  The transport turned, rounding a bend in the road and allowing them to see the full extent of the convoy as it curved and snaked behind them.  Fenravic was right - beyond the final vehicle marched a substantial crowd, rain-soaked and mud-splattered, but advancing purposefully in their wake.  “What do they want?”

“I imagine they are anxious to witness your triumph, my Lord!” the Highbishop simpered.  

Jonaris looked at him with disdain, wondering, not for the first time, how someone as disappointingly superficial and shallow as Fenravic had managed to rise to the top echelons the Order without being murdered in his sleep.

“Of course they are,” sneered Jonaris.  “Just make sure, once we’re inside the facility, that all entrances are secured and manned.  We wouldn’t want our beloved populace witnessing _everything_ , now would we?”  He turned to the front, eyes fixed on the road ahead, and the task before him.   

 

 

The Doctor stared at the Seer for a moment, shaking his head slowly and deliberately.  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

The old man sighed.  “Unfortunately dawn is almost upon us, and so I don’t have time for a protracted argument, nor would anything I have to say convince you.  Must we go through the usual routine then, with my colleagues here threatening Tegan at gunpoint until you agree?  It seems such an awful waste of time, plus not very pleasant for your lovely companion.”

The Grey Father motioned behind him, and the acolytes surrounding them loudly primed their weapons in order to reinforce the point.  The Doctor glanced at them over his shoulder, then dug in his pocket, handing the TARDIS key over with a scowl.

 “Thank you,” said the Seer, immediately handing the key over to a nearby acolyte.  “You know what to do,” he instructed. 

The acolyte bowed, then hurried towards the back of the control room and the door that concealed the TARDIS.

“It won’t do you any good, you know,” the Doctor declared.  “You and I both know that the linkages required for mass energy transfer and artron conversion take days to engineer - so if you’re hoping to keep to your dawn schedule you’re going to be sadly disappointed.”

“I am rarely disappointed, my dear Doctor,” replied the Seer, holding his arms out and smiling.  “It comes with the territory.”

 

 

Adric ducked behind the TARDIS’s interior door, keeping it open a crack as he peered back into the console room.  From his concealed position within the ante-room outside he had watched in frustration as the Doctor and Tegan were captured and marched to the dais, unable to help them without giving his position away and suffering a similar fate.  He had continued to watch through the door, trying to make out what was happening at the far end of the room, until he noticed a guard turn from the dais and head in his direction.  Quickly retreating, he found the only feasible place to hide was in the TARDIS, where he imagined he would be safe from detection; however he was soon proven wrong as the opening of the outer doors caused him to dive for cover through the internal door leading to the rest of the ship.

The Alzarian looked on impotently as the grey-clad acolyte paused for a moment, taking in the unexpected inner dimensions of the craft, before moving to the console.  The intruder walked around the controls, seemingly getting his bearings before he stopped at a particular panel, ducking down beneath it and out of Adric’s view.  The boy froze, uncertain as to what to do.  The sound of an access panel opening and the whirr of an unidentified power tool emanated from beneath the mushroom-shaped console, but these noises were accompanied by intermittent silences that would most likely render any action he took immediately detectable.  He toyed with the idea of venturing further into the TARDIS interior to find some sort of weapon, but the nearest rooms were the girls’ and his own sleeping quarters, which were unlikely to offer up anything he could utilise, and the intruder would probably be long gone if he ventured any further away. 

Before he could form an alternative plan, the acolyte rose to his feet, suddenly appearing back within Adric’s narrow field of vision.  Wiping his hands on his grey robe, he picked up a sizeable electronic component, took one quick final look around the console room, then turned and headed out of the door.  Adric quickly emerged from his hiding place, and ran round to the panel that the acolyte had been tampering with.

“Why in the world would they take that?” he asked.           

 

 

Suren panted, his face shining with perspiration as he supported the wounded Morovan in their slow progress across the deserted Consular Chamber.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” he growled, struggling to support the Proctor.

Morovan gasped as their movements wrenched his injured shoulder.  “Because - ah! - because you know it’s the right thing to do,” he replied through gritted teeth.  He felt a warmth trickling down his right arm, indicating that his wound had started to bleed again.  Ignoring it, he indicated to the Prime Consul’s desk.  “Over there, I think.”

They hobbled over to the desk together, Suren depositing Morovan heavily in the Prime Consul’s chair, where he sat for a moment, eyes closed and breathless.  Suren stood at his side, wearily wiping the sweat from his face.  

“So what are we looking for?” he asked.

Morovan opened his eyes, and struggled to sit up.  “Varden disappeared from under our noses earlier - not a single person saw him leave.”  He opened a drawer.  “I have long suspected the Prime Consul of having a covert transmat facility; it must be somewhere nearby, perhaps activated by a concealed control device.  We just need to locate it.”

Suren shook his head in exasperation, indicating his bloodstained shoulder.  “You can’t transmat with an open wound!” he cried.  “Even if you make it to the endpoint, the reconstruction will most likely kill you!”

Morovan stopped his efforts for a moment, turning to look the medic in the eye.  “If I stay here, whichever side wins, I’m as good as dead anyway.  It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

 

 

The Doctor and Tegan looked on as the acolyte returned from the ante-room, approached the dais, and handed the newly-disconnected component to the Seer.  The old man looked it over, then passed it to the Grey Father.

“Here you are, my friend… the final piece in the puzzle.  See that it is installed quickly, but carefully.  There must be no mistakes.”

The hooded man nodded, looking at the complicated device resting on his palms.  “A strange feeling,” he said, “to hold the future of Serenity in my hands… the key to a new beginning.”  He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then turned and held the component aloft, to the cheers of the watching acolytes.

“Wait a minute,” cried the Doctor, “That’s my power regulator!”

“Correct, Doctor,” rasped the Seer, “Don’t worry, it shall be returned.”

The Doctor started forward, only to be restrained once more by the guards flanking him.  “You can’t use that!” he cried, struggling against his captors, “You can’t just shoehorn Gallifreyan technology into any old system!  The consequences could be catastrophic!”

The Grey Father walked to the base of the cylindrical chamber holding Nyssa, who looked on silently as he carefully handed the component to Brother Byrnus.  The younger man opened an access panel at the bottom of the chamber, gently took the device, and inserted it into the exposed workings, before beginning the delicate work of making the relevant connections.  The Seer watched intently, then turned back to the struggling Time Lord.

“I think I know what I’m doing,” he replied with a smile.

“You thought you knew what you were doing on Logopolis!” cried Tegan, “And look how that turned out!”

The old man drew breath to reply, but was interrupted by the return of the Grey Father.

“We are almost ready, Seer.  I will address the Brethren, if I may?”  

The Seer nodded his assent.  “By all means, my dear Father.  You will do a much finer job than I could ever hope to.”

The Grey Father turned to face the acolytes, who had assembled before him, and raised his arms in exhortation.

 

 

Nyssa had given up her vain attempts at trying to communicate with her friends, and instead watched as the hooded figure, who had moments ago overseen some sort of work carried out to the base of her prison, began to address the rapturous followers gathered before him.  She could of course hear nothing of the speech, and as the figure had his back to her she had no hope of deciphering any of it via any other means.  She sighed, wiping her brow; the atmosphere in the chamber was becoming stifling, and there seemed to be a distinct lack of ventilation.  She began to wonder how long they planned to keep her in here, and whether the air would give out before she did.

Nyssa returned her gaze to the scene outside.  The figure’s speech appeared to be captivating the audience, as all attention was focussed on him, including the wizened figure of the Seer and even, she noticed, her own companions.

‘Wait a minute…’ she thought, as the implications of what she was seeing hit home.  No-one was watching her, and that presented an opportunity… one that she mustn’t squander.  She had to move quickly.

Slowly crouching down, she began to investigate the curved wall at the lower end of her chamber.  The machinery surrounding the bottom of the tube gave her about three feet of cover before the walls became clear perspex - hopefully enough to conceal her efforts from view.  She ran her fingers along the cold metal wall - the surface was for the most part smooth and impenetrable, but there seemed to be three panels towards the front, adjacent to the door, that were potentially removable.  Nyssa examined the one closest to the door, in the hope that it would give her access to the locking mechanism.  The panel proved to be sealed tight with rivets; she tried to get her fingernails into the join in order to prise it open, but to no avail.  

Undeterred, Nyssa moved on to the second panel, to find that was similarly tightly sealed.  She glanced up, peering over the edge; seeing that the occupants of the room were still distracted, she continued her efforts.

The third panel provided the opportunity she was seeking: she pushed her hands against it and it gave slightly at one end, where the rivets hadn’t been sealed as efficiently.  Nyssa managed to get her nails into the small gap along the edge; she gave it an experimental tug, but it barely moved.  

“Some sort of leverage is required, I think,” she murmured to herself, running her hand through her hair.  Her fingers caught on one of the clips that Tegan had used to pin her hair up as they were dressing for the feast, what seemed a lifetime ago.  Pulling the clip out, she inserted it into the gap at the edge of the panel, wiggling it back and forth in an effort to widen the opening.  She let out an excited gasp as it began to work and a couple of rivets popped out and fell to the floor.  Soon she had made a gap wide enough to get her fingers inside; she pulled on the panel, and it opened a couple of inches more - enough to get her hand within.  

Nyssa quickly assessed the circuitry inside, groaning with frustration as she saw nothing that linked to the door mechanism.   “Well, I’ll just have to see what damage I can do,” she murmured, as she began to test the linkages methodically.

 

 

“And so, my Brethren, our time is at hand.  The long wait in the darkness is almost over, and we shall soon reap the rewards of all your labours.  The Boy has delivered on all that was promised - an end to religious dogma, an end to the Lady’s power, and the means to bring forward a new beginning for the people of Serenity.  An enlightenment is coming, my friends, it is but a hair’s breadth away.”

The grey-clad acolytes cheered, raising their hands aloft.  The Grey Father waited for them to quieten, then continued:

“No more hardship.  No more suffering.  No more children will starve as the Order wallows in opulence.”  His voice became louder as the acolytes voiced their agreement.  “No more silence from above as prayers go unanswered.  Now science will provide those answers… as the light of the Source brings us out of the darkness, and we welcome the new dawn!”

The Grey Father raised his hands high, his followers breaking into rapturous applause.  Tegan leaned towards the Doctor.

“You’ve got to admit, the guy makes a good point,” she whispered.  

The Doctor frowned.  “Good point or not, I don’t like it,” he muttered. “There’s something wrong here, I can feel it.  Centuries-old machinery plus Gallifreyan time technology is a recipe for disaster in my opinion–”

“Plus Nyssa’s right in the middle of it,” Tegan interrupted, looking over to where the Trakenite was imprisoned.  “Hang on, where’s she gone?”  

The Doctor followed her gaze, frowning.  “I don’t know.  Hopefully she’s found a way out, but I can’t see–”  He stopped abruptly, his head whipping round.  “What was that?”

A different sound cut through the noise of the crowd like a knife.  The clapping and cheering faltered as the grey acolytes focussed instead on the intruding sound - the sound of energy blasts rending through the air.  They turned to see the inner doors burst open, as hundreds of white-clad soldiers burst into the room, training their weapons on the startled occupants, a familiar figure following in their wake.

“Apostates!”  yelled Procardinal Jonaris, flanked by a number of armed guards; “Heretics and blasphemers!  You are traitors to the Lady and the people of Serenity she stands to protect!  Put down your weapons and surrender or you shall feel her wrath!”

The Doctor turned to Tegan.  “Well, that’s _all_ we need,” he said, raising his hands.

 


	13. Terminus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worst in the Source Lab, as identities are revealed and society begins to disintegrate...

**Chapter 13 - Terminus**

 

Adric watched the TARDIS scanner screen intently, focussing in on the scene playing out in the control room.  He looked on in horror as the armed acolytes of the Order flooded into the room, weapons bristling, his friends on the dais standing helplessly, without hope of escape.  

“No!” he shouted, thumping the console in frustration.  He had to do something to help them, but if he couldn’t think of any way to come to their aid before, what could he do now, when there were twice as many enemies to deal with?  

“I _must_ do _something_ ,” he muttered determinedly, turning away from the scanner to place his hand on the door control.  As he did so, a crumpled object in the corner of the room caught his eye.  There, where he had discarded it earlier, was the white robe his captors had dressed him in, when they had used him as a pawn in their quest for power.   

Adric smiled as an idea began to form in his mind.

    

 

“This is pointless,” Suren complained.  The medic leant on the Prime Consul’s desk, staring at the Proctor with a concerned look in his eye.  Morovan was slumped in the chair, the blood loss from his blaster wound causing him to grow weaker by the minute.  “We’re not going to find this mythical hidden transmat, and certainly not before you go into hypovolemic shock.  You need to get to the Infirmary before it’s too late.”

Morovan shook his head, his pale face shining with sweat.  “No!  It’s _got_ to be here somewhere.  If not the desk then–” he cast his eye around the walls of the Consular Chamber, “What about the walls?  Maybe a hidden exit?” 

Suren sighed, and shook his head.  “It’s your funeral,” he said, as he moved to the nearest wall and methodically began to check it.

Morovan watched him for a moment, then heaved himself upright once more, reaching down into one of the desk’s open drawers.  “Not if _I_ can help it,” he muttered, pulling out a small blaster and concealing it in his tunic.

 

 

“BROTHERS!  TO ARMS!”

The Grey Father’s shout echoed around the room, causing his startled acolytes to immediately leap into action.  The crackle of laser fire filled the air as they grabbed their energy rifles and engaged the incoming mass of white-robed fighters.  The cloned soldiers of the Order marched forward undeterred, spurred on by the bellowed exhortations of Procardinal Jonaris, until the two sides clashed, white and grey meeting in a torrent of violence, faction versus faction, Serenite against Serenite.

A laser blast sizzled above Tegan’s head, causing her to scream and duck as it hit the wall behind her, exploding in a shower of sparks.

“Tegan! Get down!” The Doctor pulled her to the floor, crouching over her as stray energy bolts blazed overhead.  He looked around to find that their guards had deserted them, joining the battle at their Father’s command.  

His attention was caught by a small figure, standing at the far side of the dais.  The Seer stood alone, a curious half-smile emanating from behind his breath mask, seemingly unafraid of the danger surrounding him.  The Doctor frowned, muttering under his breath.

“I might have known… never happier than when at the eye of a storm of his own creation.”  

Tegan frantically pulled at his sleeve, distracting him from his preoccupation.  “We’re sitting ducks!” she cried, trying to make herself heard over the noise - “We’ve got to get out of here!”  

The Doctor nodded, then pointed to the chamber that held Nyssa.  “Two birds - one stone,” he replied, breathlessly; “The chamber will offer shelter, and we can try and free Nyssa at the same time!” 

Tegan nodded.  Keeping low, they carefully began to make their way towards where their friend was imprisoned.

 

 

Outside the facility, Highbishop Fenravic paced back and forth behind a squad of his soldiers, glancing nervously at the slowly-lightening sky above.  A low mist hung in the early morning air, giving the abandoned industrial zone an unsettling, otherworldly feel.  The world seemed quiet, as if holding its breath in anticipation of the dawn to come; only the occasional burst of birdsong pierced the silence as the surrounding wildlife woke to greet the new day… that, and the muffled sounds of the civil war raging within.

Fenravic stopped suddenly, ears pricking at a sound from nearby.  He peered out into the mist, but couldn’t see more that a few metres ahead.  The acolytes around him shifted nervously, checking their weapons.

“Steady,” the Highbishop’s trembling voice belied the reassurance it was intended to convey.  The soldier next to him suddenly raised his weapon, aiming at something unseen beyond the mist.  

“Hold!” Fenravic’s voice cut through the damp atmosphere; he squinted down the barrel of the acolyte’s gun.  The mist swirled, stirred by the breeze, parting momentarily to reveal indistinct, shadowy forms beyond.  The cleric frowned.  “Who’s there?  Reveal yourselves!”

The shapes moved forward through the fog, resolving themselves into recognisable forms as they came closer, until they emerged metres away from the small defensive squad.  The citizens slowly advanced, approaching the entrance to the facility.  

Fenravic’s high-pitched voice caused them to pause for a moment.  “Halt!  This is a restricted area, and you are in breach of curfew!  Go - go back to your homes, by order of t-t-the Lady!” he stammered.  

The growing crowd of citizens rumbled uncertainly, until a tall, thick-set man stepped forward, a plump, red-haired woman his side.  

“The Lady is gone!” shouted Von, “We all saw it, just as we saw who pushed her over the edge - someone dressed just like _you!_ ”  He pointed at the Highbishop’s white robes accusingly, and the crowd roared behind him.  

Rosa stepped forward.  “Why are you here, now?” she demanded.  “You’re hiding something, Bishop, and the people of Serenity have the right to know the truth!  Now stand aside and let us pass!”

The growing mass of people behind them erupted in agreement; Fenravic blanched as he looked out over a sea of angry faces and waving fists.  “You may not enter!” he repeated, his voice edged with panic - “This is a holy decree!”

“Well, stuff that,” said Von, and they started forward, the crowd advancing at their backs.

 

 

“NO!”

Nyssa thumped the curved wall of her cell in frustration, tears welling in her eyes.  Her attempts to sabotage the wiring at the foot of the chamber had come to nothing - every circuit she had managed to trace seemed to end in a redundant system, leaving her back where she had started - hopelessly trapped and at the mercy of her captors, an unwilling cog in a vast machine of unknown purpose.  It was almost as if… she shook her head, realising too late: “As if someone had put this here just to keep me occupied,” she muttered, bitterly.  She sat back, defeated, and looked up through the curve of the glass tube surrounding her.

A sudden flash caused her to gasp.  She leapt to her feet, to see to her horror that the situation outside her chamber had gone to hell in the few minutes she had been distracted.  A silent scene of violent chaos played out before her, as white-robed members of the Order clashed with her grey-clad captors, the flashes from their energy rifles illuminating the spectacle like some form of hellish lightening.  

As she was taking in the scene, her attention was caught by a sudden movement in her peripheral vision.  She turned to see Tegan and the Doctor crouched outside the door to the chamber, silently tapping the glass in an effort to get her attention.  Nyssa sighed in relief to see her friends safe from harm, then moved over to the door, putting her hands against the cool perspex.

“Doctor!  Tegan!” she cried, “You have to get away from here!  Please - it’s too dangerous!”

Tegan frowned, shaking her head and mouthing something questioningly; Nyssa looked to the Doctor, who shook his head gravely and pointed to the door’s locking mechanism, before frantically starting to fiddle with the controls.  Nyssa gasped at the realisation that he may have understood what she was saying, and started to hammer against the glass once more.

“Doctor!  I have to tell you something!  Doctor, _please!_ ”

Tegan looked at Nyssa, then nudged the Time Lord to get his attention.  The Doctor looked at her questioningly, then Tegan pointed to Nyssa.  They both ducked as a stray energy bolt exploded somewhere above them, covering them in a shower of sparks, before the Doctor looked back at the Trakenite, raising his eyebrows.  Nyssa took a deep breath.  This was her only chance - she _had_ to get through to him.

“Doctor,” she mouthed slowly, “The Seer - you need to understand!  It’s not–”

 

 

Tegan’s gaze flitted between Nyssa and the Doctor as the Trakenite shouted earnestly through the thick perspex.

“Rabbits!” she cursed, “I’m useless at lip reading!  Do you know what she’s saying?”  

Nyssa appeared to have finished; Tegan turned to the Doctor, who seemed to have turned several shades paler.  

“Doctor?  What is it?” she asked, concerned.

The Doctor turned to look at the small, aged figure of the Seer, still standing unafraid as the battle raged before him.  He turned back to Tegan, a haunting look of horror in his eyes.

“Oh dear,” he said, with a tone that Tegan had seldom heard him use before, and then only in the direst of circumstances.  “I think I may have gravely underestimated the situation.”

 

 

Brother Byrnus ran to the Grey Father’s side, breathless and sweating profusely.  “Father!” he panted, removing his glasses to clear them, “We’re hopelessly outnumbered!  We have to surrender, before they kill us all!”

The elder man turned to his colleague, an incongruous smile just visible beneath his cowl.  “Don’t worry, Brother.  All will be well.  Remember, it is always darkest before the dawn.”

Byrnus looked at him in panicked confusion.  “But the Brothers, Father - they will be wiped out, and the knowledge will be lost forever!”

“Knowledge?” the Grey Father echoed, a chuckle escaping him, “That doesn’t matter now.  All that matters is _fore_ knowledge.”  He nodded toward where the Seer stood.  “The future our aged friend has promised.”

“What?” Byrnus spluttered, “Father - how can you say such things?  Our knowledge… our knowledge is _everything_!  Without it, our cause is lost!”

The Grey Father turned his face towards Byrnus, his shadowed smile sending a chill down the younger man’s spine.  “My dear boy, it was lost a long, long time ago.  You just didn’t know it.”

Byrnus backed away from his mentor, shaking his head in disbelief as the sudden and callous disregard for the lives of his brothers filtered through his reeling consciousness.   “I… I don’t…” he stammered, “Father, how could you?”  

He turned away, gasping in shock as he found a white-robed soldier blocking his path.  The soldier raised his weapon; Byrnus staggered as the butt of the rifle connected violently with his temple.  He crumpled to the floor, unconscious, his glasses shattering as his head hit the ground with a dull thud.  

The Order soldier looked up from the ragged heap of grey cloth at his feet, and silently retrained his weapon on the Grey Father, who raised his hands with a smile.

    

 

“What on Earth are you talking about?” exclaimed Tegan.  She looked at the Time Lord in confusion, but his gaze was still resolutely fixed on the small figure across the dais.  

“I was wrong,” he muttered, “If they activate this machinery it won’t just be a disaster... it’ll be cataclysmic!  The energies involved are exponentially greater than I thought, and vastly more unpredictable... a single error in the programming, a wire out of place and the resultant explosion could tear apart the very fabric of the universe!”

Tegan paled, looking around the smoke-filled, battle-scarred room.  “And given that there’s a full-on battle raging around all this equipment…”

“Exactly,” said the Doctor.  “We have to stop this, before it’s too late!”

Tegan looked over his shoulder, distracted by something beyond.  “Er, Doctor?”  

The Doctor heard a sudden fear in her voice; he turned to look at her, his youthful face concerned. 

Tegan nodded silently, indicating behind him.  “I think it may already be too late,” she said dejectedly, slowly raising her hands.  

The Doctor whirled round to find a dozen white-robed soldiers facing him, their energy rifles trained on his hearts.  

 

 

“Well that’s it, I’ve tried everywhere.”  Suren threw his hands in the air, turning back towards Morovan in exasperation.  “If there is a transmat in here, I can’t find it.  We’re out of options.”

The Proctor pulled himself up out of the Prime Consul’s chair with a groan of effort, his face pale and waxen.  He staggered over to the medic, cradling his useless arm with the other.  “It has to be here!” he growled, “There’s no other explanation!”

“I’ve tried everything!” Suren protested, “Every moulding, every tapestry!  There’s nothing here!  Now I’m taking you to the Infirmary whether you like it or not!”  He reached out to grab the Proctor’s arm.

“No!”  Morovan cried, pushing the medic away.  The motion caused Morovan to stagger, and he reached out to steady himself against the wall.  His hand hit a featureless wooden panel, a gap between one ancient tapestry and the next, but to the Proctor’s surprise his fingers passed right through it, causing him to cry out as he overbalanced and fell against the wall heavily.

Suren moved quickly to his side, pulling him to his feet.  “What the…?” he gasped, pushing his fingers against the seemingly solid area of wood.  They passed straight through, disappearing into the unknown area behind.  He pulled his hand back sharply, checking his fingers to make sure they were intact.

Morovan laughed dryly.  “I should have guessed,” he said, “An atmosphere lock.”  He reached inside, wincing as his shoulder flared in pain at the movement.  Fumbling around for a moment, he smiled as a dull click emanated from within.  The entire panel silently shifted to the left a few inches, leaving a dark, narrow opening in its wake.  The air released from the space beyond smelled stale and uninviting, as if it had been sealed inside, seldom disturbed, for centuries.  The two men looked at each other, the Proctor’s face breaking into a grin.

“Now we’re in business,” he said, and began to squeeze his way through the gap.

 

 

Acrid-smelling smoke drifted lazily through the air of the Source Lab control room.  The battle was over; the Grey Brothers had been hopelessly overwhelmed by the weight of numbers and the cold-blooded resolve of the Order’s cloned soldiers.  The surviving grey-cloaked acolytes were rounded up by the Order and marched to the dais at gunpoint.  There they joined the Doctor, Tegan, the Grey Father and the Seer, still smiling serenely behind his breath-mask, as Nyssa watched on, helplessly trapped in her cylindrical chamber.   

After a moment the Order soldiers surrounding the small group parted to accommodate the substantial frame of Procardinal Jonaris, his silken robes spotless as he swished past his bloodstained soldiers, a triumphant smile animating his heavy jowls.

“Well,” he sneered, looking at the captives standing before him, “What have we here?”  He turned to the Doctor.  “I might have known _you_ would be here, Herald.  Surrounded by death and destruction, as usual, I see.”  Jonaris raised his arm, to indicate the body-strewn lab beyond.

“This was nothing to do with me, Procardinal, as well you know!” the Doctor retorted, “Whatever petty factions pervade your dysfunctional society are none of my concern!  What _is_ my concern is that this whole system needs to be powered down immediately, before Serenity ends up like the rest of the Traken Union!”

“All in good time, Herald,” Jonaris replied dismissively,  “First, we have the small matter of an insurrection to deal with.”  He moved to where the Grey Father and his aged companion stood.  “An assault on the sanctified establishments of Serenity.  An attack against the authority of the Order, and against the Lady herself!”  The Procardinal’s voice rose accusingly, as he peered into the dark recesses of the Grey Father’s cowl.  

“None of that matters right now!” the Doctor protested.  “If this machinery is set in motion–”

“I WILL HAVE SILENCE!” the cleric bellowed, then motioned to his guards.  They immediately restrained the Doctor, their weapons pointed directly at his head.  

The Time Lord gritted his teeth in frustration, but remained silent.  Jonaris turned back to the Grey Father, raising his eyebrows in expectation.  “Well?  What have you to say for yourself, apostate?”

“ _‘The Lady’_ ,” the hooded cleric laughed bitterly.  “The Lady is unharmed, no thanks to you, and your so-called ‘authority’ is built upon lies and deceit, a carefully-fashioned cage to keep the people in line.”

“Blasphemy!” shrieked Jonaris, his face reddening.  “How dare you–”

“I dare,” the Father interrupted, “because I am sick of the games we play, in the name of ‘keeping the peace’!  I am sick of the power ceded to those who have proved themselves, time and time again, unworthy!  I am sick of the deference afforded to a faith that serves only greed and self-interest!”  He stepped forward, his shadowed face inches away from the Procardinal’s.  “I’m calling time on you, Procardinal - on you and your whole ungodly Order!”

The rotund cleric’s face darkened with the oncoming storm of his rage.  “ _You’re_ calling time?!  Who the hell do you think you are?  You have no authority here, heretic!”

“I have EVERY authority!”  the Grey Father yelled, before pulling his hood back to reveal his face.

The face… of Prime Consul Varden. 

 

 

“Keep back!  Back, I say!”  Highbishop Fenravick called impotently from the shelter of the facility’s entrance.  His words had no effect on the advancing citizens, who kept on moving purposefully forwards.  “Halt, or we’ll open fire!  Th-this is your last warning!”

The crowd paid no heed, and continued to press forwards.  Fenravick cried out as the acolyte next to him gave in to panic and discharged his weapon into the masse of citizens.  The blast hit a man full in the chest, and he fell to the floor.  The crowd roared in response, their pace quickening to a run as they closed the ground between them and the entrance.  Flashes of laser fire illuminated the scene, but it was too late - in an instant the mob was upon the meagre defence, quickly overwhelming them.  They streamed into the facility, the frontrunners holding aloft the weaponry they had just liberated from Fenravick’s vanguard.

 

 

“Varden!” whispered Tegan, “So _that’s_ where he got to!”

“Well, it _was_ rather obvious.”  The Doctor looked at her, puzzled.  “Wasn’t it obvious?”  

“Shhhhhhh!”  Tegan dug the Time Lord in the ribs to silence him as Jonaris opened his mouth to speak.

“ _You!_ ” the Procardinal hissed, eyes narrowing at the sight of his long-time adversary.  “What absurdity is this?  The Prime Consul of Serenity, the leader of a band of terrorists?  How the mighty have fallen!”  He gave a derisive laugh, but his eyes remained wary.  “You realise you’ve just signed your own death warrant, of course?”

The Prime Consul gave a wry smile, and consulted his wrist-device.  “Better make it quick, Jonaris… your time is running out.”

“ _My_ time?  You really _have_ taken leave of your senses.  My time is just beginning!  With the Prime Consul… shall we say… ‘unfit for office’, there is really only one person who can fill the power vacuum created, wouldn’t you agree?”

Varden shook his head.  “You have no comprehension of the burdens of office,” he snarled, “You only want power for power’s sake, to feather your overstuffed nest and boost your inflated ego!  You have neither the stomach nor the wit for the commitment and sacrifice required… with you in charge, Serenity would burn, whilst you looked on from your gilded palace!”

“It is clear from your actions that any wit you possessed is long gone,” retorted Jonaris.  “It is also clear that this debate is futile - the choice has already been made.”  The cleric raised a fat finger, pointing it in the direction of the chamber imprisoning Nyssa.  “You have insulted the faithful of Serenity and everything they hold dear by your abduction and imprisonment of our most exalted Lady, and I, her anointed representative, have been brought here to carry out her will and to exact her retribution!”  His voice raised in pitch as he motioned to his guards, who raised their weapons in unison, pointing them directly at Varden.

The Prime Consul paused for a moment, scanned the room behind the Procardinal’s huge frame, then turned to Jonaris, his laughter echoing around the vast chamber.  “How can you utter such hypocrisy with a straight face?!  You profess to be an instrument of the divine, and yet you and I both know the truth - that your personal faith is as fake as the whole religion itself!”

The Procardinal’s complexion darkened.  “YOU WILL BE SILENT, BLASPHEMER!”

“I WILL _NOT!_ ”  Varden bellowed, his voice imbued with authority.  “This girl,” he continued, flinging his arm towards where Nyssa was caged, “however miraculous her survival, is no more divine than you or I!  You know the truth as well as I - the truth written in the annals that only the powerful few ever get to see!  The truth of our entire grotesque existence is written there:  the lies formed and myths created in the dark to keep a frightened, Keeper-less populace in line!  The Lady, the Herald, the Boy - it’s all just crowd control, forced upon us by our ancestors’ senseless rejection of technology–”

“Be silent!” Jonaris cried, trembling with barely contained rage, “Or I will silence you _permanently!_ ”

“Technology,” Varden carried on, ignoring the threat, “that you continue to suppress in spite of the suffering of our people, and why?  Because to do otherwise would be to lose your stranglehold on power!  YOU keep the people in need, Jonaris, because otherwise the people wouldn’t need YOU!”      

   “AS DO _YOU!_ ”  The cleric exploded, spittle flecking his cheeks as his anger took hold.  “You seek to paint yourself as innocent in all this, but whatever games I may play you mastered long ago.  You talk of hypocrisy?  You belittle the beliefs I pay lip service to, but are happy to use them for your own tyrannical ends!  Well no longer!  The people of Serenity are mindless sheep, and the flock must be controlled, but it is time for a new shepherd.  Now that I have the Lady in my grasp, the people will follow her every word - words penned by _my_ hand!”  Jonaris raised his hand to give the order for execution, a cruel, triumphant smile on his face.  “Your services, Prime Consul, are no longer required…”

Varden grinned, checked his wrist device, and raised his hood once more.  “Are you sure of that, my dear Jonaris?  Look behind you.”

The cleric hesitated, momentarily unsettled by the look of amusement on Varden’s face.  Hand still wavering in the air, he turned slowly towards the back of the room…

To find himself faced with a steadily increasing hoard of citizens, their stony expressions fixed inexorably on him.  

“It looks like the ‘flock’ aren’t entirely happy with what their new shepherd has to say,” said Varden with barely concealed amusement.  

Jonaris stood rooted to the spot, staring in horror as the people of Serenity began to mutter and point, the scene they had just witnessed being relayed back to those behind, the outrage at his self-incriminating words growing exponentially with each second.  And although the noise of the citizen’s disaffection grew, all the Procardinal could hear was the sound of the trap closing neatly behind him.  

“GET THEM OUT OF HERE!” he bellowed.

Half of the Order’s soldiers immediately turned to advance on the citizens, forcing them back towards the exit, and out into the corridor beyond.  

Jonaris slowly turned back to face the group on the dais, his eyes locking with Varden’s. “ _You!_ ” he spat contemptuously, “You scheming, manipulative bastard... you had this planned all along!”  

“You give me too much credit, Jonaris,” the Prime Consul replied.  “My choices were made for me, just as much as yours.  I too am an instrument... of the _future_.”

Jonaris stared at Varden, blood pounding in his ears as his heart hammered in his fleshy chest.  It was over, he thought, all his careful planning and years of hard work brought to nothing.  The game was done... but as he looked at his bejewelled hand, still raised in the air, he realised that he still had one final move to make.

“The future,” he whispered, his gleaming eyes meeting Varden’s once more.  “You have stolen _my_ future... but I can still take _yours_.”

With that, Jonaris began to drop his hand to give the order for execution.  

For a moment time seemed to slow, the occupants of the dais caught in a nightmarish stasis-field of their own making.  Tegan cried out, starting forward as next to her the Doctor struggled to free himself from his guards.  Still the hand made its inexorable descent, the trigger-fingers of the surrounding soldiers tightening fractionally with each passing microsecond, their unblinking eyes fixed on the cleric’s signal, just as their weapons were trained on the Prime Consul’s heart.  Varden himself stood calmly, closing his eyes and holding his arms out wide as if to welcome his imminent demise.

The Procardinal’s arm had almost completed its journey, when suddenly the scene became bathed in a brilliant, white light emanating from the far corner of the dais, accompanied by a piercing, high-pitched whine.  The occupants of the room staggered under the sensory assault, momentarily blinded.  A second later the sound and heat of a laser blast rent the air; the Doctor and Tegan instinctively ducked, Tegan gasping in shock as something heavy flew through the air and landed at her feet.

“What the hell?”  Her eyes slowly readjusting, she looked down to see the insentient form of Procardinal Jonaris sprawled in front of her.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND STAND DOWN!”  The shout echoed around the room, quickly followed by the sound of a hundred energy rifles hitting the floor, as the remaining cloned soldiers in the vicinity immediately relinquished their weapons.

The Doctor found himself suddenly released; he rubbed his eyes and looked over in the direction the cry had come from.  

“Proctor Morovan?!”

The Proctor stood near the transmat platform, a small blaster in his outstretched hand, the front of his tunic dark with blood.  His other arm rested around the shoulders of his companion, who wore a shocked expression that mirrored the Doctor’s own. 

Tegan gasped as she recognised him.  “Suren!  What the heck are you doing here?”

“Arriving in the nick of time, it seems,” the medic replied.  Tegan rushed towards him, but before she could get anywhere near him the medic’s attention was distracted as Morovan collapsed beside him with a groan, dropping his weapon to the floor.  Tegan rushed to his side, quickly followed by the Doctor.

Suren swiftly checked his pulse, then re-examined his wound.  “I _told_ him it was madness to use the transmat,” he said.  “Any clotting that had occurred previously has just been rearranged at a molecular level, and he’s lost too much blood already.  He’s going into shock.”

The Doctor dug around in his pockets.  “Here,” he said, bringing out a clean white handkerchief, “you can use this to try and staunch the flow.  Tegan - could you go and get the medikit from the TARDIS, please?”

Tegan looked around the room - she could hear the clamour of the citizens outside as they clashed with the acolytes trying to herd them from the building, whereas the white-clad soldiers scattered inside the room stood silent and completely motionless, their weapons at their feet. 

The Doctor sensed her hesitation.  “It’s completely safe Tegan, don’t worry.  The Proctor appears to have complete control over the clones, they won’t move a muscle without his say so.”  He nodded towards the antechamber containing their ship.  “Quickly now - and bring Adric back with you.”  

Tegan nodded, and set off at a quick pace.  The Doctor watched her go, then turned back to the stricken Morovan, who had opened his eyes.

“That was an extremely foolhardy thing you did, Proctor,” the Doctor lectured, “You were very lucky to have survived the transmat.”

Morovan coughed, then gave a weak smile.  “All in the line of duty,” he rasped, before coughing again, his lips shining with blood.  “May the Lady have mercy on my soul…”

“No need for that, Proctor,” urged Suren, “Tegan will be back in a minute with the medikit, and we’ll soon have you sorted out, isn’t that right, Doctor?”  He looked at the Time Lord, who seemed to be lost in thought.

“The Lady!” he cried, leaping to his feet, “I almost forgot!”  He turned to where his Trakenite companion was still imprisoned in her transparent chamber, silently watching the proceedings.  In between them, however, the way was blocked by the Seer, Varden, and their remaining grey acolytes who, it seemed, had been silently gathering up the Order’s weapons. The Doctor stepped forward.

“Prime Consul, please, we must get Nyssa out of there, and decommission this whole system as soon as possible.  If it activates, the whole of Serenity could be lost!”

The Seer shuffled forwards, his small frame bent with age.  “No, old friend, I cannot allow that.  We must continue… as it was, so must it be.”

“You were never so reckless,” the Doctor accused.  “In all these years, have you learnt _nothing_?”

“On the contrary, Doctor, I have learned much!  So many things you have yet to learn yourself, about the nature of time, about when to take risks… and when to let go.  But all of that is, as yet, unwritten.  _This_ course of events is set, and we must continue!”

“I cannot let you do this to her!” the Doctor pointed at Nyssa, the anger rising in his voice, “You’ll start this process over my dead body!”

The Prime Consul stepped forward, a pistol in his hand.  “I wholeheartedly agree,” he said, smiling.  

    

 

Tegan rushed through the TARDIS doors into the empty console room.  

“Adric?” she shouted, “Adric!  Are you in here?”  She marched over to the interior door and through into the corridor.  “ _Adric!_ ”  Tegan waited for a moment, but no response came.  “Where in the heck has that boy got to now?” she muttered to herself, before heading down the residential corridor in search of the medikit.

 

 

The Seer shuffled to the nearest control panel, his black-gloved hands a blur of motion as he began the system’s activation sequence.  

“This is madness!” cried the Doctor, staring down the barrel of Varden’s pistol.  “Prime Consul, you cannot possibly condone this course of action!  What about your people?”  The Doctor indicated the remaining crowd of citizens across the room.  “You are risking the lives of every man, woman and child on this planet!”

“As I said, Doctor,” the Prime Consul replied, “I wholeheartedly agree… with _you_.”  Varden turned and pointed his weapon at the back of the Seer’s head.  “Step away from the controls, old friend.”

The Seer froze.  Without turning, he laughed, the sound translated into a harsh electronic buzz through his breath-mask.

“Would you like me to act surprised?” the older man asked, chuckling.  “Like I haven’t known of your intentions from the start?  I’ll do my best, if you like, but I’m afraid acting has never really been my forte.”

“‘Intentions’?” asked the Doctor, “What intentions?  I thought you shared the same goal: the restoration of the Source!”

The Seer turned, his goggles glinting, unseen eyes fixed on the Prime Consul.  “That is, indeed, my intention,” he said, “and I believe at some point it was the Prime Consul’s.  We have travelled a long road together, you and I.  Tell me, my dear Varden: at what point did you take the path to betrayal?”

“One man’s betrayal is another man’s loyalty,” Varden countered, “It just depends on your point of view.  I act, as I have always acted, for the good of Serenity.”

“That good is best served by restoring the Source, Prime Consul!  You know that as well as I!”

Varden shook his head.  “A Source controlled by whom?  You?  _Her?_ ”  He waved his gun in Nyssa’s direction.  “It’s autocracy either way, only this time backed by limitless power, and zero accountability!”

“It worked before,” said the Seer, “it can work again.”

The Prime Consul broke into hysterical laughter.  “Shall we ask the people of Traken how well it worked?  Oh, that’s right, we can’t - they’re all _dead_.”

The Doctor eyed Varden suspiciously; out of the corner of his eye he noticed Tegan heading back with the TARDIS medikit.  As she ran past a nearby cohort of Order soldiers, the Doctor frowned; something pricked at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was.  He coughed, distracting Varden’s attention.

“Forgive me, Prime Consul, but I’m not sure I follow.  If you are so against the restoration of the Source, then why have you devoted so much time and energy to its resurrection?”

“Because the only way to control a game is to play it yourself, on one side or another,” growled Varden in reply.  “I allowed the game to continue, and now the pieces have fallen exactly as I planned, and everyone’s strategies are laid bare.  The Order is finished, the Lady contained and the Seer exposed, and everyone with the knowledge to recreate the Source is here in this room.”  He consulted his wrist device, and tapped a few keys.  “Now all that remains is to destroy this facility… and the game is won.”

 

 

Tegan quickly ran over to where Suren crouched, keeping pressure on the stricken Morovan’s wound.

“Here you go,” she whispered, handing over a large white box, “One medikit.  What’s going on over there?”

“I don’t know.  Take over here,” Suren said hurriedly, showing Tegan where to press on the Proctor’s wound.  Morovan groaned in pain, and Tegan looked down at his deathly pale, sweaty face. 

“Sorry,” she said, “I’ve never been any good at first aid.”

Suren rifled through the medikit.  “I don’t know what half of this stuff is,” he muttered, pulling out a large sterile pad and passing it to Tegan. 

She removed the Doctor’s handkerchief and replaced it with the pad, wincing at the sight of the open wound as she did so.  

Suren pulled a couple of phials of liquid from the box, examining their labels.  “Hopefully this should help,” he said, inserting one of the phials into a hypospray injector.  “If the label’s right it  should work to normalise his blood pressure.  Presuming it works on Serenites, that is,” he added, pressing the injector to Morovan’s throat.  

Tegan looked at it and smiled.  “Good old ‘Plan B’,” she said with a nervous laugh, “Never fails!”

They looked at each other, smiling fondly at the memories of the past few hours, which seemed like a lifetime ago.  Impulsively Suren leaned in, his face inches from hers.  He looked at her uncertainly, relief washing over him as, moments later, Tegan moved toward him, closing her eyes.  The air seemed suddenly charged with electricity as their lips moved closer, closer, until…

Tegan gasped suddenly, her eyes snapping open as she felt a hand roughly grab her wrist.  

Suren jumped back, his face flushing.  “I’m sorry!” he gasped, “What did I–” 

They both looked down to see Morovan looking back at them, the deathly pallor receding as some colour returned to his cheeks.

“No time for that now,” he croaked hoarsely, “Someone has to stop Varden!”

 

 

The Doctor paced in front of the Prime Consul, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.  “So once you’ve carried out your final moves and destroyed this lab and, presumably, everyone in it… what then?  Who governs Serenity in the aftermath?” 

“I will resume control, just as I always have,” Varden answered, matter-of-factly.

“So, an autocracy then, just like the one you’re so keen to avoid!  And what makes _you_ qualified for the job, when no-one else is, hmm?”

“My track record!” retorted Varden.  “I have been controlling this colony for decades!  I have devoted my whole life to the security of Serenite society!”

The Doctor stopped his pacing, peering directly into Varden’s hood.  “That’s it, isn’t it, Prime Consul?  _Control_.  You’ve been engineering events for decades to suit your own purposes!  Keeping the people barely fed, but working them hard, so they don’t have the time or the energy to rebel… blaming it all on the Order, and setting Whites against Greys to keep everyone from realising the real truth - the fact of your monopoly on power!”  He jabbed his finger at Varden, “You’re a control freak, Prime Consul!  A Keeper without a Source!  But you’ve been at it so long, you can’t bear to loosen your grip, and I’m very much afraid that the prospect of losing control is driving you insane!”

Varden shifted the gun from the Seer to point directly at the Doctor’s chest.  

“You think you know so much, but you know nothing, Time Lord!” he spat.  “I have sacrificed my whole life for the sake of order!  My marriage, my family - everything!  I have done things you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares in the name of keeping the peace, and have taken countless lives to keep Serenity whole!  I cannot - I _will not_ \- let all that be for _nothing!_ ”  His voice reached a crescendo as he faced the Doctor down, reinforcing his point by thrusting the muzzle of his pistol into the Time Lord’s chest.  

The Doctor remained calm, looking at him with the pitying eyes of one who had heard countless similar speeches from an array of tyrants, despots and maniacs.   “Oh, my dear Prime Consul,” said the Doctor, “you really don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“I beg to differ,” snarled Varden.

The Doctor shook his head sadly.  “You _think_ you’re in control, but the fact is you’re being manipulated just like everyone else.  You can’t control the future, especially when someone else has already seen it!”  

“Too right!”  Tegan appeared at the Doctor’s elbow, hesitating for a moment as she noticed the gun pointed at his chest.  

“Tegan!” 

  The warning note in the Doctor’s voice, as usual, wasn’t enough to put his Australian companion off.  “No, Doctor, he needs to know what he’s dealing with!”  She rounded on the Prime Consul.  “You think you’ve got it all worked out, don’t you?  But what you don’t know is that you’ve sided with one of the most evil beings in the universe, the very person that destroyed Traken in the first place!”  Tegan pointed to the Seer, stood quietly watching events a few feet away.  

“Tegan, please–” the Doctor began, only to be interrupted by Varden.

“That’s ridiculous!”  The Prime Consul gave a derisive laugh.  “I have known this man for years, and he has always willingly shared his divinations.  His ultimate aim may have been misguided, but he has always had the good of Serenity at heart, that I am sure of.”

“He’s just using you!”  Tegan cried, “and he’s no flaming prophet either - he’s a time-traveller, just like the Doctor!  The only reason he knows what's going to happen is because he’s seen it before!”

For a fraction of a second the Prime Consul’s mask of self-assurance seemed to slip; however he quickly recomposed himself, smiling at Tegan condescendingly.   “This man is no Time Lord, I assure you.  I may not be a xenobiologist, but I believe I have wit enough to be able to recognise one of my own people.”

“He’s _not_ one of you!”  Tegan pointed at the Seer accusingly:  “He _stole_ that body from Nyssa’s father!”

“Tegan, _please_ be quiet!”  The Doctor placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.  “I know you mean well, but you don’t have all the facts!”

“But–” 

“I suggest you do as he says, my dear.”  Varden turned towards her, his pistol moving with him to point directly at the Australian woman’s head.  “I have killed many people on the long road that has led us to this point, I have no qualms about adding one more to that list.”  

Tegan froze, eyes wide in shock as they fixed on the muzzle of the gun hovering inches from her face.  The Doctor moved factionally, instinctively reacting to the threat to his companion; Varden sensed the motion and quickly snapped:  

“Don’t even think about it, Time Lord!  One more move and she dies!”  

The Doctor froze, then raised his hands in an effort to calm the situation.  “There’s no need for violence, Prime Consul.  Tegan is no threat to you, I assure you.  Just put the gun down; I’m sure we can resolve this without any further bloodshed.”

Tegan flinched as Varden let out a sudden laugh.  “Well, that depends, doesn’t it, _old friend?_ ”  He turned to the Seer, still standing quietly by the control console, absorbing the events before him.  “It depends on whether what they are saying is true.  On whether you proclaim to be our saviour, when in fact you are the true destroyer of the Union… On whether I am my own man, or merely a hapless puppet, dancing to your tune,”  he snarled.  “On whether you have taken me for a _fool!_ ”  The Prime Consul’s shout echoed around the room.  “Well?  Which is it, old man?!”

The Seer paused, his breath slowly hissing through his mask as he considered his response.  He looked at the Doctor, Tegan, and then at Nyssa, staring mutely from the chamber close by.  “If there is one thing I have learned from my long life, it is that nothing is so easily defined… you could argue I am all of these things, and at the same time, none.  It is true that I have guided certain events, but only as one who is bound to follow what has gone before.”  The old man smiled, raising his black-gloved hands.  “You may say I had a choice in the matter… others may view me as simply another  prisoner of time, but that is for minds greater than ours to decide.  To my mind, I could act no other way… _as it was, so must it be._ ”     

“ENOUGH!”  Varden’s shout cracked through the air.  “I have had enough of your riddles, Seer!  _I_ am the master of my own destiny!  The future of Serenity is in _my_ hands, and the Source will _never_ be part of it!”  He tapped a series of commands into his wrist-device and then, before the Doctor could react, the Prime Consul grabbed Tegan’s arm, roughly dragging her away in the direction of the transmat station, his blaster held firmly against her temple as she cried out in terror.  

“Varden!  Let her go!  This is madness!”  The Doctor shouted, starting towards them.  

Varden quickly turned his weapon on the advancing Time Lord, causing him to stop in his tracks.  “No Doctor, this is the _end_ of madness!  I have just primed a series of explosive devices that will activate on my transmat out of here.  The destruction of this facility, and with it the means and knowledge to recreate the Source, will herald a new beginning for Serenity!”

Varden continued to drag his struggling hostage towards the transmat station.  Tegan tried everything she could to slow his progress, dragging her heels across the smooth floor, but to no avail.  Varden wrapped a wiry arm around her neck; she grabbed it with both hands, putting all her weight on it to try and drag him to the floor.  The Prime Consul responded by returning the muzzle of the gun to her temple.

“Now now, my dear - I would co-operate if I were you, after all, a transmat journey with me is the only way to survive the next five minutes…”

Tegan flinched, turning her head away from the gun.  Her eyes flickered desperately across the room, only to find it filled with motionless white-robed soldiers standing frozen like some perverse sculpture park.  Suddenly, a movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention; she turned her head in its direction, frowning as she failed to find its source, the acolytes still as statues once more.  Varden yanked her backwards, and she turned back to him with a snarl: 

“If surviving the next five minutes means spending more time with _you_ , I’ll pass, thanks!” she retorted, jabbing her elbow backwards.  

Varden anticipated her blow, turning swiftly to the side.  Tegan cried out in frustration as her elbow connected with nothing more than flowing robes.

“You’ll have to do better than that, girl,” Varden snarled, tightening his grip on her throat.

“Let her go, Prime Consul!  This isn’t the way!”  

Varden turned to see Suren a few yards away from him, Morovan’s small pistol in his outstretched hand, pointing directly at the Prime Consul’s heart.  He laughed scornfully.

“Ah, our lovestruck medic!  Found your courage at last, have you Suren?  A little too late, I’m afraid.”

Suren gritted his teeth in determination.  “I won’t let you do this, Prime Consul.  The people of Serenity are not pawns in your power struggle, nor are the lives of the people in this room expendable, whatever colour they wear.  Now drop your weapon, and let Tegan go!”

“Well said!” agreed the Doctor, moving next to the medic.  “This is your last chance, Varden.  Let Tegan go, disarm your explosives, and this can all end peacefully.  You know you can’t win.”

“Ha!”  Varden’s harsh laugh echoed around the control room.  “If you’re gambling on the marksmanship of a medic to beat my trigger finger you are a poor player indeed, Doctor.”  He heaved Tegan backwards once more, his gun still at the girl’s temple.  “She would be dead before he could even aim.”  

They backed on to the transmat platform, Tegan’s fear-filled eyes fixed on the Doctor’s, silently pleading with his to do something - anything - to save her.  

The Prime Consul smiled, his own eyes gleaming in triumph.  “To the future of Serenity!” he cried, reaching down with his gun-hand to activate the transmat controls.  

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed; clenching his fists he let out a sudden shout:  “ _NOW!_ ” 

Tegan found herself jerked abruptly backwards, a strangled cry in her ears; she tried to scream but found that she couldn’t breathe, her airway crushed by Varden’s left arm tight across her throat.  As she clawed at his forearm a laser blast sounded right next to her ear; she flinched at the deafening sound and searing heat on her face, then looked on in silent shock as the Doctor and Suren threw themselves to the floor as two more blasts narrowly missed them.  She gasped desperately for air, panicking as blackness started to creep in around the edges of her vision…

Then all of a sudden she was free, legs buckling as she fell unceremoniously to the floor of the transmat station.  Tegan’s chest heaved as she sucked in huge gulps of air, instinctively flinching as more laser blasts tore through the air above her.  

Recovering herself slightly she looked up to see the Prime Consul grappling with an Order acolyte, grey and white locked together in a frenzied struggle; the white-robed assailant had one arm round Varden’s throat and held his wrist with the other hand, trying desperately to loosen his grip on the weapon grasped tightly in Varden’s hand that was now firing wildly and indiscriminately around the room.  As the pair struggled Varden swung round violently in an effort to shake his attacker off, the motion causing the acolyte’s hood to be flung back from his head, revealing a mop of black hair beneath.  Tegan gasped in recognition.

“ _Adric!_ ”

Varden’s head whipped round as she named his unseen assailant.  Adric jumped fully onto Varden’s back in response, wrapping his arms and legs around the older man in an effort to subdue him, but the Prime Consul fought with renewed vigour, twisting and turning violently to try and shake him off.  Wrenching his gun hand free, he flung it behind him, catching Adric on the side of the head with the pistol.  Adric cried out in rage as Varden backed up against the wall at the edge of the platform, crushing the boy against the unforgiving stone.  His grip loosened, and the Prime Consul quickly turned, pinning Adric up against the stone wall.

“Remember your training, _Boy_ …” Varden growled, his face inches from Adric’s. “What is your mission?”

Adric shook his head, Varden’s face swimming before him.  “I - I… No!” he shouted, turning his face away.  “Don’t… don’t do that!”

“Listen to me, Boy…” the Prime Consul purred, “and remember the words Brother Byrnus spoke to you.  Remember your _duty_ … the people of Serenity are depending on you, Adric - you _must_ complete your mission!”

Adric screwed his eyes shut as unwelcome thoughts and feelings flared unbidden in his mind once more, boiling in the pit of his stomach as he fought to retain control.  He clenched his fists, his arms trembling.  “No!” he growled through gritted teeth, “I won’t do it!  I won’t let you turn me into a murderer!” 

“ _I_ will.”

The voice came from behind Varden; Adric saw the confusion wash over the older man’s face for a split second before the violent scream of a laser blast ripped through the air.  Adric watched Varden’s face change in an instant to a mask of agony, his eyes fixed on Adric’s.  His lips moved soundlessly for a moment, until his voice finally emerged in a gurgling rasp.

“This - this wasn’t how it was supposed to end…”

Adric saw the life slowly fade from Varden’s eyes before they rolled heavenwards, and the Prime Consul collapsed against the Alzarian, slowly sliding into a heap on the floor.  Adric stared at the body at his feet, then looked up into the eyes of his killer.

The grey-robed figure of Brother Byrnus swayed slightly, blood trickling down from his temple past the shattered remnants of his glasses as the energy rifle in his hand clattered to the floor.

 

 

The Doctor picked himself up from the floor, offering a hand to Suren as he got to his feet. 

“What happened?” asked Suren.

The Time Lord dusted his pants down, a look of dismay on his face.  “A case of the Prime Consul’s chickens coming home to roost, I think.”  Ignoring the medic’s puzzled look, he moved to where Tegan sat on the floor of the transmat platform; taking her hand he gently helped her upright.  “Are you alright?” he asked, wincing as he noticed the redness of her neck, where bruises were already beginning to form. 

“I think so.”  Tegan coughed, her voice croaky.  She looked to where Varden lay motionless a few feet away.  “Is he–”  

“Dead?  Undoubtedly.  Brother Byrnus shot him at point blank range.”  The Doctor watched as Suren tentatively approached the grey-robed brother, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.  Byrnus tore his eyes from the body at his feet to look at the medic, before hanging his head despondently.  

“We’re lucky Adric wasn’t hurt,” said the Doctor.  

“Speaking of whom,” replied Tegan, “I think you’d better check on him.”  She nodded to where the boy still stood against the wall, looking down at the Prime Consul’s body.  “I’ll go and see if Nyssa’s OK.”  

The Doctor nodded, and Tegan moved off across the dais.  The Time Lord watched her go, thoughtfully.  Belligerent and argumentative as she was, he mused, there were times when Tegan’s humanity was a vital component in his overwhelmingly alien TARDIS crew, keeping them all together when the madness of the universe hijacked his attention for matters of greater consequence.  His regeneration-addled brain had been right when he picked her as ‘coordinator’, he thought.  He must remember to tell her that sometime.  With a hefty sigh, he turned towards Adric.

 

       

Having checked Varden’s body and satisfied himself that Brother Byrnus’ head wound didn’t present any immediate danger, Suren bent down to retrieve the energy rifle at his feet, flinging it away from him in distaste.  “Such bloodshed,” he muttered, gazing out across the room, strewn with bodies cloaked in grey and white alike.  “How did we descend into madness in the space of one night?”

“Not one night.”  Byrnus shook his head.  “This is the culmination of decades of treachery, built on centuries of lies.  I realise that only now, after the Father has betrayed me, perverted my life’s work, and turned me into a murderer.  I fear there is a darkness within us that no light can banish.  Serenity is broken.”

Suren sighed, then clapped his fellow Serenite on the shoulder.  “Then we must fix it,” he said determinedly.     

 

 

The Doctor strode over to where Adric stood over Varden’s still form, taking him gently by the shoulders.  “How are you feeling, Adric?” he asked, peering into the boy’s dark eyes.

Adric tore his eyes from the Prime Consul’s body, meeting the Doctor’s even gaze.  He stared at him for a moment, gathering his thoughts.  “I… I’m fine, Doctor.  I’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure?”  The Doctor was unconvinced.  “You’ve been through the mill these past couple of days, physically _and_ mentally.  It’s going to take some time to recover from.”  Adric opened his mouth to speak, but the Doctor raised his finger, stopping him.  “I know: ‘Alzarians heal faster’.  But this isn’t just a scraped knee, Adric… they’ve been inside your head, made you do things and think things that go against every fibre of your being.  They have hurt you in ways you’re only just beginning to realise, and such scars take time to heal.”  The Doctor put his arm protectively around the boy’s shoulders.  “I know now is not the time, but when you’re ready to talk about it… I’m here.”   

Adric drew breath to speak, but he couldn’t find the words or the strength to argue.  He simply nodded, eyes brimming with tears. 

“Good chap,” said the Doctor, smiling.  “And thank you, by the way, for coming to Tegan’s rescue.  I was beginning to fear the worst for a moment, until I saw you creeping through our frozen friends over there.  That was a very brave thing you did, young man.”

A smile threatened to break its way through to Adric’s face for a moment, but it was immediately superseded by a frown.  “How did you know it was me?” he asked.  The Doctor grinned.

“Well, you _are_ a little short for an acolyte,” he chuckled.  “Now, let’s–”

“DOCTOR!  COME QUICK!”  The cry came from across the dais, Tegan’s panicked voice unmistakable.

The Doctor and Adric shot to their feet in an instant, sprinting in her direction.

 

 

Outside the control room, the citizens had been slowly forced back down the corridor leading back to the entrance, the hooded Order soldiers advancing menacingly, their weapons primed.  Angry shouts came from the back of the crowd, whilst those at the front attempted to stand their ground, pushing back against the relentless approach of the white-robed clones.  

“Back off!” shouted Von, reacting angrily to a violent push from the acolyte in front of him.  “We are citizens of Serenity - not mindless animals to herd!” 

His rebuke was met with cries of support from the crowd, clenched fists raised high in defiance as the tension in the air grew, charged with the people’s anger and frustration, aimed at the soldiers before them who represented centuries of oppression and deceit.  Still the clones pressed forward, unwilling and unable to deviate from their orders; Von pulled Rosa behind him as he saw citizens around them pushed brutally to the ground.  

A hooded youth next to them staggered under the onslaught, crying out in anger as he reached under his cloak.  “Get off me!” he shouted, pulling out an energy rifle he had taken from the earlier struggle at the entrance.  “DEATH TO THE ORDER!” the youth screamed, and opened fire.

The Order soldiers immediately retaliated, unleashing their weapons on the crowd, as the scene in the corridor descended into chaos. 

 

 

The Doctor and Adric arrived to see Tegan knelt by a crumpled form on the floor, her hands covered in blood.  She looked up as they neared her.

“I… I was checking on Nyssa, but when I got here I knew something was wrong - she was beside herself, banging on the glass like crazy… I tried to get her out but I couldn’t open the lock, and then she pointed over here and I found… I found him like _this!_ ”

The Doctor looked down, gasping as he recognised the body before them.

“The Seer!”  

“What happened to him?” asked Adric, as the Doctor knelt down beside Tegan to examine the old man.

“I think… I think it must have been when Varden had me hostage, and you were trying to get him off - his gun was firing everywhere, remember?  I think he must have got caught in the crossfire!”

“Adric!” The Doctor looked up at him.  “Go and see if you can open that lock and free Nyssa.  Tegan - go and get Suren, and bring the medikit!”  

Adric leapt to his task, but Tegan lingered for a moment, confused.  

“I’m no medic, but I think it’s too late for that, Doc,” she replied, her voice wavering.  “Besides, he’s a Time Lord - won’t he just regenerate?” 

“Tegan, _please!_ ”  

On hearing the urgency in the Doctor’s voice Tegan offered no further argument.  Getting to her feet, she dashed off to find Suren.  The Doctor looked down at the old man.  He moved slightly, groaning noisily through his mask.

“It’s alright, I’m here,” soothed the Doctor.  “You’re going to be fine.”

The Seer’s mask erupted with a harsh electronic buzz; the Doctor started, before realising it was the sound of laughter.  The skin around the Seer’s goggles crinkled as he turned his face towards the Doctor.

“I think we both know that’s a lie, old friend.”

“No!” the Doctor replied, an edge of angry desperation in his voice.  “I can save you, just let me–”

“You already have, my dear Doctor…” the old man interrupted, “So many times, and in ways you have yet to comprehend.  But this is the end.  The only thing you can do now is to help me on my final journey.  The preparations are made… I just need to take the final step.”  The Seer reached out to the Doctor with a shaking, black-gloved hand.  “Will you help me, old friend?”

The Doctor closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face.  Then slowly, hesitantly, he took the Seer’s hand in his own.  “Of course I will,” he replied, his voice husky.

“ _What?!_ ”  

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, to find Adric standing over him.  Nyssa stood a few feet away, finally freed from her prison, a look of horror on her flushed face as she looked down at the figure laid before them.  Adric’s expression was indignant.

“You’re going to help _him?_ After all he’s done?”

“Adric, you don’t–”

“I don’t what?  Understand?” the boy retorted, “You’re right, I don’t!  I don’t understand why you’re helping the Master, after everything he’s put us all through!”

“What’s going on?”  Tegan returned at that moment, closely followed by Suren. 

The medic quietly knelt by the Seer’s side, the TARDIS medikit in his hand.

“Tegan…” the Doctor started, only to be cut off by Adric once more.

“He’s helping the Master!” the Alzarian exclaimed.  “The man who murdered your aunt, tortured me, wiped out Traken and killed Nyssa’s father!”

“You can’t be serious,” Tegan gasped, folding her arms tightly across her chest.  “After all he’s done?  How can you even think of doing such a thing?  If this is some sort of weird Time Lord thing then I swear–”

“Tell them.”  Nyssa’s soft voice cut Tegan off in mid-tirade.  All eyes turned towards her, the Doctor’s filled with a questioning look.  “You must tell them, Doctor - it’s the only way,” she continued, her pale green eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Tell us what?” asked Tegan.

The Doctor looked down at the wrinkled face of the Seer, half-covered as it was with alien technology.  Staring into the opaque lenses, he tried to catch a glimpse of the person underneath, but all he could see was his own deceptively youthful face staring back at him.  He considered for a moment, before sighing in resignation.  “May I?”

The Seer nodded slowly and silently.  The Doctor leaned over; taking a deep breath, he gently unclipped the breath mask from the old man’s face, throwing it to one side.  It landed with a clatter against the control panel nearby, momentarily breaking the silence in the room.  The Seer gasped, sucking in the cool, unfiltered air for the first time in decades, his chest heaving.  The Doctor waited a moment for his breathing the settle, then reached forward and carefully took hold of the old man’s goggles, pulling them gently away from his face.  The Seer’s eyes were closed tight shut.  Slowly, tentatively, they opened, irises contracting furiously against the harsh light above.

The wide eyes were clear and bright, shining with intelligence… and a distinctive shade of pale green.

Tegan and Adric gasped simultaneously in shock.

“But that’s - it can’t be…” Tegan stammered, looking at the Doctor in confusion, her gaze flicking between her young Trakenite friend and the wrinkled face before her.  “That’s impossible!”

“I’m afraid not, Tegan,” replied the Doctor, solemnly. 

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” said Nyssa, disconsolately, “ever since the struggle in the laboratory, when I looked into the Seer’s eyes… and saw _my own_.” 

 

 

“Quick, Von!  _Run!_ ”

The big man ducked as a laser blast burned through the air close to his head, his red-haired wife pulling him by the hand.  The corridor was strewn with bodies, both of citizens and of soldiers, as the few citizens who had taken guns from Fenravic’s men had brought them into play as the Order began to open fire indiscriminately.  People were running screaming towards the exit, dragging their injured friends and loved ones with them.  He looked into Rosa’s panicked face.

“Go,” he said, “I’m right behind you!”

 

 

Adric knelt by the old figure, staring into the aged face, lined with time and experience.  The Seer’s cowl had fallen back slightly, revealing long white hair, curled ringlets framing the aristocratic features and unmistakeable eyes.  “Nyssa?” he whispered.  “Is that really you?”   

The old woman’s gaze fixed on the boy, a range of emotions chasing across her lined face in a confusing mixture of sorrow and joy, green eyes brimming with tears.  “Adric,” she breathed, smiling.  “It’s good to see you again.  All of you, in fact.  It’s been such a long time.” 

Tegan turned to the younger Nyssa stood next to her, mouth agape.  The young Trakenite stared at the older version of herself, arms crossed tightly over her chest.  Her youthful face betrayed the sense of revulsion and horror she felt at being directly presented with her future self, bound up in a life and fate that she couldn’t comprehend.  

Tegan put an arm protectively around Nyssa’s shoulder.  “I don’t like this, Doctor,” she said, warily.

“Neither do I, Tegan, not one little bit.”  The Time Lord frowned, turning to the old woman laid before him.  “Considering everything we’ve been through since we arrived on Serenity, I think you have some explaining to do,” he said gravely.

The older Nyssa coughed suddenly, her face wracked with pain.  Suren looked up from his examination of her injuries.  

“Better make it quick,” he said quietly, “I’m afraid she may not have long.”

The coughing subsided, and the old Trakenite’s breathing steadied.  She smiled fondly at the familiar faces surrounding her.

“I knew this would be the end… just as I remembered it happening, all those years ago.  But I couldn’t wish to be in better company,” she said, smiling.  “I have lived such a long time, and have seen and experienced so many things that it will take me a lifetime to tell you about them all.  But that’s for another time, far from now… plus I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” she laughed, looking at her younger self, before continuing.  

“I had found contentment in my old age, in my garden a world away from here, and I would have been happy to end my days there.  But then…” she paused, wary of providing too much detail, “…an opportunity presented itself, a beacon in the darkness that I knew I had to follow.  I took it, knowing that it would lead me across unfathomable distances back here to Serenity, birthplace of the Source that lit my first moments in life, with a chance to right one last wrong.”

“That’s all very noble,” said the Doctor, “but you know how dangerous it is to meddle in time like this… how could you be so irresponsible?” he admonished.

The elder Nyssa smiled wryly.  “I learned from the best.”

The Doctor frowned.  “And why all the deception?  If you had explained from the beginning I would have helped you, you know I would.  All this violence and death could have been avoided.”

Nyssa sighed.  “I regret any loss of life, you know I do, Doctor.  But I am bound by time… you know as well as I do that the only way to be certain of a future outcome is to preserve the events of the past - the events I witnessed a lifetime ago had to take place in order for Serenity to survive in the future.”

“You mean if you’d done things differently, it might not have turned out alright in the end?” asked Tegan.

“As it was, so must it be…” intoned Adric thoughtfully.  The Doctor looked at him, frowning.   

“There must have been another way!”  The younger Nyssa suddenly broke her silence, her voice carrying an edge of anger at the seemingly callous disregard her older self had for the sanctity of life.  “I would never put my friends in danger in this way… I would never condone such bloodshed!”

Her older self smiled sadly, wrinkles creasing around her green eyes.  “But you already have, child, and you will again.  The circle is complete, and it cannot be broken.  You will understand, one day.”

“But these people trusted you!”  Nyssa indicated the grey-cloaked bodies dotted around the room.  “They trusted you, and you did nothing to prevent their deaths!”

The old woman sighed wearily.  “Regime change, however nobly meant, is never easy, and seldom happens without the spilling of innocent blood.  Each one of these people knew the risks, and accepted them willingly.  They gave their lives for something they believed in, although I did not ask them to, nor want them to, knowing that in doing so they would create a better world for all.  Believe me, my child, if I had not interfered, the civil war that Varden and Jonaris were heading for would have caused far greater loss of life, with the survivors finding themselves bound in even tighter chains than they were before.”  

She coughed again, pain lancing through her aged body.  “At least this way, I can set things right… and give a final gift to the last remnants of the Traken Union, before I go to join my father…”  

She closed her eyes, her breathing laboured.  

 

 

The crowd of citizens burst out of the Source lab, their cries shattering the early morning stillness as the sounds of gunfire raged behind them.  Rosa and Von ran hand in hand through the doors into the misty grounds beyond, but soon found their way blocked by people.

“What is it?” shouted Rosa, “What’s going on?”

“There’s nowhere to go!” shouted someone in front of them.  “It’s the Fosters - the Fosters are here!”

Von looked out over the heads of the crowd, to see a large unit of the civic guards arranged in formation, weapons primed and ready to fire.  The citizens had stopped before them, their panicked shouts and screams filling the air.  The tall, grey-haired figure of Foster Telemas stepped forward, a vocal amplifier at his throat.

“ _ALL CITIZENS ARE ORDERED TO DISPERSE, BY ORDER OF THE PRIME CONSUL.  MARTIAL LAW HAS BEEN DECLARED…RETURN TO YOUR HOMES QUICKLY AND QUIETLY!  ANY FURTHER BREACHES OF CURFEW WILL BE DEALT WITH SEVERELY._ ”   

“Martial law,” muttered Rosa bitterly.  “Things are going from bad to worse.” 

As Von nodded in grim agreement, the doors of the Source Lab suddenly exploded with gunfire as the Order’s clones burst through in pursuit of the fleeing crowd.  The citizens already outside flinched and ducked as the waiting Fosters immediately returned fire, filling the air with the sizzling heat of energy bolts flying overhead.  Rosa screamed, throwing herself to the floor as Von crouched over her, protecting her with his huge frame.  He looked into her eyes, as the grounds echoed with violent explosions and the screams of the dying.

“There’s no escape!” he said, eyes wide with fear.  “It’s civil war!”

 

 

Tegan stepped forward to where the older Nyssa lay, her eyes brimming with tears.  “She’s not… is she?”

Suren shook his head, pulling out a hypospray and applying it to the old woman’s neck.  “No, but there’s not much time.  I can’t do anything else for her.”

“She mentioned a gift,” murmured Adric, “but what gift can she possibly give now?”

“Her life,” replied the Doctor, solemnly.  

“But what good will that do?” Tegan asked, frowning.

The Doctor reached down, taking the elder Nyssa’s gloved hand in his.  “The rebirth of the Source requires a massive energy influx, more than the resources of this planet are capable of providing.  I had thought that the Master’s TARDIS was somehow being used to provide that power, but I was wrong.”  He looked up at the younger Trakenite.  “Nyssa herself can provide it.”

Tegan frowned.  “What?  How on earth can she do that?”

“It’s a principle of time travel that if two temporal versions of the same person come into physical contact then the time differential will short out, causing a massive energy discharge.  That’s why she needed my power regulator - only a component engineered on Gallifrey could cope with the levels of unstable time energy created.”

“I’m not going to pretend that I understood any of that,” said Tegan, “but you can explain it another time.  What I did get was that it sounds dangerous.”

“Yes, Tegan, incredibly dangerous.  That’s what this chamber is for,” the Doctor indicated the cylindrical structure that Nyssa had been imprisoned within, “to contain and channel the energy.  But the touch would have to occur inside the chamber, and the participants would be exposed to its effects.”

“You mean it could kill Nyssa?” cried Tegan, looking from the girl at her side to the old woman at her feet.  “ _Both_ of her?  We can’t risk that!” 

  “I think it’s safe to say it won’t,” said Adric, matter-of-factly, “otherwise _our_ Nyssa wouldn’t live - or _have_ lived - to become _this_ Nyssa.”

“Well I still don’t like it,” Tegan retorted, turning on the Doctor.  “You said yourself this thing’s a deathtrap!  ‘A single wire out of place’, you said, and the whole thing could blow sky high!”

“Adric’s right, to a certain extent,” the Doctor sighed, “If that did happen then this older version of Nyssa wouldn’t be here… but of course that outcome might only come about because of any action we take now.”  He looked at the younger Nyssa, a grave expression on his youthful face.  One again he found himself bearing the weight of a decision of monumental consequence on his shoulders, the fate of millions of souls resting in his hands.  Would this decision straighten his record, and assuage the lingering guilt over Traken?  Or would he become the Herald once more, ushering in the darkness that would quench out the last of the Union’s lingering light?  He stared into the face of his young Trakenite companion, her eyes fixed upon his own and awaiting his judgement.  But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that it wasn’t his choice to make.

“This is your life, Nyssa - your home, your people… and _your_ decision.  As the daughter of the last Keeper Nominate, I don’t think there is anyone more qualified to make it, and I will abide by your wishes, whatever they may be.”  

Nyssa stood silent for a moment, then blinked and looked down at her older self, laid dying at her feet.  For a moment the enormity of the events of the last two days, culminating in her standing here, witnessing her own last moments of life, overwhelmed her.  She closed her eyes, shutting out the madness if only for a few brief seconds.  

Within the protected haven of her mind she could still feel the turmoil around her - that of her own feelings, and also, faint and distant beyond her mental barriers, those of the population of the colony, swirling and crashing against her defences like a whirling storm of despair and anguish.  Nearer still she could feel violent turmoil and pain, sharp spikes of desperate emotion pricking at her consciousness like needles.  Making her decision, she opened her eyes.

“We must help them,” she said, determinedly.     

 

 

A few minutes later, the Doctor watched as two of his young companions carried their aged friend towards the huge perspex tube that dominated the control room, her younger incarnation walking behind, like a mourner in a funeral cortège.  They laid her carefully within the chamber, propping her failing body up against the curved wall.  The Time Lord turned back to the control panel before him, making one last survey of the flickering readouts.

“Well, I think that's the best we can do, Brother Byrnus,” he said to the figure stood beside him.  “How do things look from your end?”

“With the quick repairs we’ve just made, everything seems to be functioning within acceptable parameters,” Byrnus replied, staring intently at a string of figures on the nearest display.  He checked the chronometer.  “And we’re just in time,” he said, “any later and the sun would have been too high, and the telemetry unworkable.”

“Then there’s nothing else to do,” said the Doctor, taking a deep breath and stuffing his hands into his pockets, “but to say goodbye.”

 

 

“Nyssa?”

The old woman’s eyes fluttered open, to find the faces of the past staring down at her, as fresh and clear as they had been preserved in her memory.  She smiled back at their concerned expressions.

“I’m still here…don’t worry,” she whispered.  “I think they’re ready,” said Tegan, looking over her shoulder to see the Doctor approaching.  He stopped outside the chamber to talk to the younger Nyssa. 

“Time to say my goodbyes then,” the older Trakenite breathed, “for the final time, I think…”

“Don’t say that,” said Tegan, her voice tremulous.  “You never know–”

“Ah, but that’s the trouble - I _do_ know.”  Nyssa took Tegan’s hand.  “Please don’t be sad,” she pleaded.  “I have had a wonderful and fulfilling life; I’ve seen and done so many things that I couldn’t even have dreamt of in my short years on Traken… but all things must come to an end.  I’m tired, and my body is spent.”  She chuckled, a memory from long ago stirring in her mind. “It seems I’m not indestructible, after all.”  She coughed, pain syphoning through her body; as it faded, she felt someone take her other hand.

“Adric,” she said, turning to face the boy with a smile. “It’s been so good to see you again, and to get the chance to say goodbye properly, this time.”  Nyssa frowned, then continued: “But even though I’ve had so many years to think of what to say to you, now the moment is here I find myself lost for words.”  

“It’s alright,” Adric said, his voice low.  “You don’t need to say anything.”

She gripped his hand tightly, blinking away tears.  “We were so young, you and I, both torn from our homes and families, clinging desperately to the Doctor like a life raft in a vast and frightening universe.  You helped me so much in those early days, keeping me together when my world literally fell apart before our eyes, and I never got to thank you.”  She sighed deeply, her voice catching in her throat.  “Just know that… that whatever happens, I will never forget you, I promise.”

Adric stared at her for a moment, sensing that there was something else behind her words, something more she wanted to say but for some reason couldn’t.  He opened his mouth to speak, but found he didn’t have the vocabulary to convey what he was feeling.  He simply squeezed her hand in return, nodding briefly before turning his flushed face away, wiping his eyes roughly with his sleeve.  He got to his feet, and headed towards the chamber door.  As he reached the threshold, he hesitated, looking back over his shoulder.  “Goodbye Nyssa, I… I won’t forget you, either,” he said quietly, then stepped through the door, back out into the control room.  

Nyssa watched him go, a bittersweet smile on her face, then turned to face Tegan.

The Australian’s face was already streaked with tears.  Nyssa smiled at her, gently wiping her cheek.  “What was it the Doctor used to say to you?  ‘Brave heart’?  You always did wear it on your sleeve,” she breathed, her wide eyes twinkling.  

“I’m sorry,” Tegan apologised, “This is the last thing you need, having to deal with a blubbering Aussie at a time like this.”  

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  Nyssa chuckled softly.  “But you really shouldn’t worry… this may be _my_ last farewell, but it’s not yours.  We’ll see each other again, even though it may seem impossible.  That’s one of the beauties of travelling with the Doctor, remember - not _all_ goodbyes are forever.”  

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” cried Tegan. “We could take you in the TARDIS, get you somewhere that can help…”  Her trembling voice trailed off as the old Trakenite shook her head, white curls bouncing around her wrinkled face.  

“Tempting as it would be to take one last trip in the TARDIS, I _have_ to go through with this, Tegan.  You know that… you know _me…_ better than anyone.  If my death can bring peace to this world, then… then my life’s work will be complete, and I can die a happy woman.”  She gripped Tegan’s hand once more, squeezing it tightly.  “And so much the happier for seeing you again, Tegan.  I never got to tell you at the time, but… you have been and always will be my dearest friend, and I count myself lucky to have known you.  Never forget that, will you?”  She reached up, wiping Tegan’s tears from her cheek with a shaking hand, her voice wavering.  “Never forget _me._ ”

Tegan took her hand, tears flowing freely down her face.  “How could I ever forget you?” she sobbed, trying to force a smile. “You’re one of a kind.”  She took Nyssa’s hand, pressing it to her cheek as the Doctor appeared at the door.  

“It’s time,” said the Doctor, solemnly.  “Are you ready?”  The older Nyssa nodded.  Tegan took one last look at her old friend, her eyes expressing everything she wanted to say, if only time had not run out on them.  Gently kissing her on the cheek, she whispered a hoarse farewell, then turned and left the chamber, running into the arms of the younger Nyssa, who was waiting anxiously a few feet away.  Adric joined them, awkwardly patting Tegan on the back.          

“Last chance,” said the Doctor, crouching next to the elderly Trakenite.  “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”

“Last chance…” repeated Nyssa, eyes brimming with tears, “in more ways than one.”  She took a deep breath.  “I have said goodbye to you so many times, Doctor, each time infinitely harder than the last.  Only this time, I know it’s the end.”

The Time Lord sighed, avoiding her eyes.  “I’ve never been very good at goodbyes,” he said, his skin flushing in contrast with his fair hair.  

“You’ll get better with age,” she smiled warmly, thinking of the first time she had parted from him, leaving him to forge a new life on a grimy, disease-ridden spaceship long ago.  “It’s ironic really - my last goodbye, and your first.  Our lives have so rarely been in sync.”

The Doctor held up his hand.  “Nyssa, please - you mustn’t tell me anything about the future.  Foreknowledge is a such a dangerous thing.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed sadly.  She moved her shaking hand to his face, tracing the youthful line of his cheek, the bittersweet moment almost tearing her heart in two.  Here she was at last, with the opportunity to thank this man - this wonderful, impossible man, who had snatched her from a doomed planet and gone on to save her life time and again in a thousand different ways, who had showed her the wonders of the universe and taught her things that stretched the very limits of her comprehension, taking her along the way from frightened child to confident woman… and yet even though every detail of their time together was seared indelibly into her memory, it was all still unwritten for him.  In their years travelling together they had forged a close bond based on mutual respect and friendship, and a trust that can only evolve between those who have held each others lives in their hands… but as she looked into his eyes she could see nothing of that, just the faint stirring of what was yet to be.  All that she wanted to say hung dead in the air between them, fettered by the unbreakable chains of time.

As Nyssa’s aged fingers brushed against his skin, she felt brief flutterings of emotion, her latent psychic sensitivity heightened by the momentary physical contact.  Her fingers wandered across his temple, each transient touch sparking off another faint glimmer of feeling, sketching in a faint outline of the Doctor’s emotional state.  She closed her eyes, frowning as she sensed sadness, concern, sympathy… but all with a swelling undercurrent of unshakeable guilt and remorse.  She realised in that moment the extent of the responsibility he took upon himself, not only for her and his other companions, not only for Traken and the fate of its people, but for each and every life he had touched in one way or another through his long centuries of wandering through the universe.  He carried it with him, this impossible burden, the broad shoulders of the Time Lord barely enough to manage its weight.  But, she realised, it was what drove him on, what spurred him into action as he set foot on each new planet with the unstoppable desire to set things right.  And with that thought, she understood what she must do.  

“May I?” she whispered, reaching again towards his temple.  The Doctor drew back slightly, realising what she intended.  “Trust me, old friend,” she soothed, “Remember, I’m not a full telepath.  This way, there’ll be no specifics, no detail.  Please… let me give you my parting gift, before I go.”

The Doctor hesitated momentarily, then gently took her hand, guiding her fingers across his brow to the right positions.  Taking a deep breath, he nodded silently and closed his eyes.

“Contact,” Nyssa breathed.

The Doctor gasped, the immediate inrush of her emotions taking his breath away.  Within moments, however, the flow steadied, and he found he could begin to discern the different facets of what he was experiencing.  This wasn’t at all like the mental contact they had experienced in the Infirmary, he realised, noting that Nyssa had been right - whereas their previous sharing had been initiated by him, with Nyssa as the conduit the connection was on _her_ terms, and rather than sharing the detailed experiences and memories that had flowed through his fully telepathic synapses, what he was receiving through her was at once more limited yet in some ways richer, a kaleidoscope of unfettered emotion unbound by physical events.     

Nyssa smiled as she felt him settle into the connection, then concentrated as she began to access specific experiences from her long life, knowing that all that would be passed to the Doctor were the feelings that those memories evoked.  

She thought first of her time on Terminus, the uncertainty of those first few months as they struggled to survive, eclipsed by her growing confidence and finally triumph at eventually finding a cure for Lazar’s disease, and the billions of lives they had saved as a result.  She remembered the first time she had met Lasarti, the happiness their friendship had brought her and the elation as that friendship blossomed into love.  A love that had multiplied exponentially with the birth of their children… Nyssa smiled as she recalled the utter joy that they had brought her, the indefinable feeling of contentment and completeness as she remembered her daughter’s tiny fingers wrapping around her own for the first time, her son’s first smile, the feeling of their small, warm bodies in her arms, holding on to her with a primal and unconditional love.  The pride she felt as they grew, taking their first steps into the world and seeing the joy of discovery on their faces as each new experience was shared with her, flowers and petals offered up like the most precious of treasures.  Happy memories of golden summers spent together, and the games they had played in their gardens on Zarat, the whole family laughing and tumbling together in a jumble of arms and legs as the setting sun cast long shadows, bringing endless days to a reluctant close.  

Her mind shifted, back to her continuing work in xenomedicine, and further diseases conquered, with countless more families across the galaxy spared the heartbreak of loss.  Then on to Apollyon, and how her own initial feelings of loss became supplanted with satisfaction as life in the colony began to turn around under her guidance, followed by the peace and contentment of old age as her garden bloomed around her under the warmth of the rejuvenated sun.  

Finally, Nyssa brought her thoughts back to those early years spent travelling with the Doctor, the thrill and excitement of each new journey, the wonder of learning and the warmth of their companionship, and the solace gained from knowing that she was no longer alone in the universe.  

She opened her eyes and looked at the Time Lord.  “My life has been a gift from your hands,” she whispered, “and so too the lives of those that I have touched.  None of it would have been possible without you.  Never forget that.”  

The Doctor opened his eyes, his face flushed, breathless from experiencing the emotions that Nyssa had shared with him, and at the same time humbled by the implications.  He felt lightened somehow, as if a burden had been lessened.  “Thank you,” he said, taking her small hand from his face and wrapping it in both of his.  “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“No, Doctor, thank _you,_ ” she replied.  “For so many things.” 

He gently raised her hand, brushing it softly with his lips.  “It has been an honour to have known you, Lady Nyssa of Traken,” he said, sincerely.

“The honour was, and forever will be, all mine,” she replied, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The Doctor got to his feet, and walked slowly to the chamber door.  As he reached the threshold he hesitated, looking over his shoulder.  No matter how many times he did this, it never got any easier, he mused.  And just as each and every one of his companions brought something unique to his life, every parting was different, each friend taking a little bit of him away with them when they left, to be scattered across eternity like stars in the infinite void.  But for Nyssa her travelling days were over, and the part of him that she carried was dying with her, diminishing his immortality as a result.  The aching feeling of loss tightening across his chest was an unfamiliar occurrence for a Time Lord; he prayed it would be a long time before he felt its like again. 

“Goodbye,” he said hoarsely, as he thrust his hands into his pockets and stepped through the door.

 

 

Byrnus was waiting for the Doctor at the chamber threshold, in an apparent state of agitation.  The Doctor greeted him, glad of the distraction.

“Ah, Brother Byrnus.  Is everything ready?”

The grey-cloaked brother nodded.  “Yes Doctor, but we are running out of time.  If we wait much longer, the window will be closed.”

“Well, no time like the present, then,” the Doctor replied, turning to where his companions stood huddled together, along with Suren.  “Nyssa?  Are you ready?”

The younger version of his Trakenite companion turned to him, hesitating for a brief moment before nodding solemnly.  She started walking toward the chamber door, but found a hand on her arm, holding her back.

“You can still change your mind, you know,” pleaded Tegan, “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

“You know I can’t do that.”  Nyssa smiled back at her, putting on a brave face.  “Don’t worry about me, Tegan,” she said, pulling her into a tight hug, “I’m indestructible.”  Gently disengaging herself from Tegan’s arms, she gave Adric a brief smile, then walked to the door, where the Doctor stood waiting for her.  

He put his hands on her shoulders, stooping a little to peer into her eyes.  “We don’t have much time,” he said, “Do you know what to do?”  

Nyssa nodded silently, curls bouncing around her youthful face.  

“I… I’m sorry, Nyssa,” he continued, eyes downcast, “If there was any way to avoid this you know I–”

“Doctor, this isn’t your fault,” she interrupted, “not any of it.”  She looked at the older version of herself through the glass, “And it’s fitting, in a way.  The last link to the old Source, giving birth to the new… I couldn’t ask for a better legacy.”

The Doctor looked at her, shaking his head in admiration.  “You’re a very brave person.  I–”

“No, Doctor,” she interrupted, “Don’t say your goodbyes yet - save them for another time.  I’ll be fine.”  Before she could lose her nerve she gave him a quick hug, then took a deep breath, and walked to the chamber door.  The Doctor followed behind.

“We’ll need a minute to calibrate the controls,” he instructed.  “Good luck.” 

Nyssa nodded, and stepped into the chamber, the Doctor closing the heavy door behind her.  He turned to find Byrnus waiting for him.

“Right, Brother Byrnus,” he said, putting his arm round the other man’s shoulders - “It’s now or never.  Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

 

Nyssa had closed her eyes as the chamber door shut behind her, unwilling for the moment to open them and confront the inescapable fate before her.  She breathed deeply, mentally counting off seconds in her head, until she heard an eerily familiar voice speak.

“Is it time, already?”

Nyssa nodded, keeping her eyes firmly shut.

“You can open your eyes, you know.  I won’t bite.”  The voice was faint, and frail-sounding.  Nyssa frowned.

“I - I’ve seen quite enough of what I’ve become, thank you,” she replied.

“As you wish.”  The older Trakenite sighed.  “I don’t have the time, or the energy to argue, I’m afraid.  I know you’ll forgive me one day… or rather, you’ll forgive _yourself_.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that.”  

The elder Nyssa shook her head ruefully.  “I wish we had more time… I wish…”  Her voice broke, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.  “There are so many things I want to say to you, about the life you’re going to lead and the choices you’re destined to make.  About the significance of what you are about to do, not just for the people of Serenity, but also for _yourself_ …”

“I can’t know anything about the future, you know that!” the younger Nyssa retorted, her eyes snapping open.  

“I know.”  The old woman held her hands out to her younger self.  “Come closer, child - the moment is drawing near, and we must be ready.”

Nyssa reluctantly moved across the chamber, carefully kneeling directly facing her future self.  Her head suddenly ached, a dull pain throbbing at the base of her skull; she put her hand to her brow, wincing.

“I’m sorry, child, that pain is my fault.  Psychic feedback.  The humanoid brain wasn’t designed to occupy the same space and time.”

Nyssa looked at the dying woman before her, her familiar face lined with age and untold experiences that would, in time, become her own, shaping her into this person that she could barely reconcile with herself.  “Just tell me one thing,”  Nyssa asked quietly, “Is it all worth it?”

The aged Trakenite smiled, remembering back to the events the young woman before her would go on to witness, and the life she was yet to lead.  Her eyes filled with tears, emotions welling up within her.  “Oh _yes_ ,” she breathed, her voice faltering as pain lanced through her failing body.  Her younger self reached forward, before pulling her hands back quickly, wary of touching her.  The old Nyssa settled again, her breathing laboured.  “Just promise me one thing,” she whispered, tears escaping onto her time-worn face.  “Promise me… that once you find him, don’t waste a minute.  Hang on to each precious moment, because… because nothing is forever.”    

“I - I promise,” replied Nyssa, suddenly overcome at the depth of feeling she sensed from the older woman before her, and the future that her words hinted at… a future where she was no longer alone.  As the seconds in her head ticked down to zero, she reached out, fingers hesitating near her older self’s face.  “To days to come,” she said, a brief smile of hope flickering across her lips.

“All my love to long ago,” the older Nyssa replied, closing her eyes for the final time. 

 

 

“Ready, Byrnus?” the Doctor shouted over the steadily increasing whine reverberating around the Source control room.  

The Serenite nodded, gripping on to the levers and switches in front of him, his eyes fixed on the flickering displays.  “All systems go!”

The Doctor checked the controls, making some last minute adjustments before shouting: “Three!  Two!  One–”

 

 

Nyssa’s fingers gently stroked the old woman’s face, wiping a last lingering tear from her wrinkled cheek, before the chamber exploded in a burst of searing white light.

 

 

Stood directly next to the chamber, Adric, Tegan and Suren recoiled from the surge of intense brightness, stumbling as the ground below them started to shake.  Tegan cried out, holding on to Suren for balance, as Adric dropped to his knees, looking to where the Doctor and Byrnus were stood, holding on to the control panel for dear life.

“It’s holding!” shouted Byrnus, watching numbers flash past on the screen in front of him.

“Energy levels building!” the Doctor bellowed, shielding his eyes as he looked toward the chamber.  Nothing could be seen of its occupants.  The towering cylinder was opaque with brilliant white light, pulsing with an intensity that threatened to tear the facility apart, the energy ducts that spread from its ends glowing white hot as they fanned out across the floor and ceiling like snaking rivers of molten metal.  “A few more seconds….!”

“This place is going to shake itself apart!”  Tegan’s cry was almost drowned out by the deafening thrum of the energy build up that seemed to vibrate through to her bones; she clapped her hands over her ears to block out the noise, Adric and Suren doing likewise as the floor bucked and rolled beneath them.

“The capacitors are almost full!” shouted Byrnus, frowning as he suddenly noting a warning light flashing to his right.  “Doctor!  The secondary capacitor is weakening!  If it fails–”

“I know - the resulting explosion would be catastrophic!  Is there an auxiliary?”

“Yes, but there’s not enough time to bring it on line!” cried Byrnus, an edge of panic in his voice.  

The Doctor flashed him a reassuring grin, his hands moving across the controls at a speed Byrnus couldn’t fathom.  “You leave that to me - I know a few shortcuts!”  

The Serenite scientist looked on in disbelief as, moments later, the warnings displayed on his readouts disappeared one by one.  “You’ve done it!” he shouted jubilantly.  “The energy’s been dumped to the auxiliary capacitor, with minimal wastage!  We’re almost there!”

The rhythmic pulsing of the light within the chamber increased in intensity, the unbearable noise becoming a physical force that threatened to shake apart the molecular bonds of everything in the vicinity.  Adric fell to the floor, swiftly joined by Tegan and Suren, their faces contorted in agony as sound and light tore through them…

Then all of a sudden, the light faded, as quickly and violently as it had begun.  Adric gasped in relief as the noise similarly abated, reducing to a low background hum.  He shook his head, his ears ringing as he looked round to check on Tegan and Suren, relieved to find they were still in one piece.

“That’s it!  Energy levels at maximum!” shouted the Doctor, clapping a shaken Byrnus on the shoulder - “Just maintain the stabilisation fields, Byrnus, we’re not there yet!” 

 

 

Outside the facility, the violence continued unabated, Serenite clashing with Serenite in a desperate and bloodstained struggle for existence, the bodies of the fallen strewn across the ground like broken dolls. 

Rosa and Von stood back to back, a brief respite in the fighting around them giving them time to catch their breath.  They stood there together, their clothes torn and streaked with dirt and blood, chests heaving with exertion.

“Look!” said Von suddenly, indicating towards the cohort of Fosters to their left, “There’s a break in the line!”  Seeing their chance to escape from the mayhem surrounding them, Von grabbed Rosa by the wrist, and together they broke into a run.

They had covered half the distance when Von felt his wife suddenly torn from his grasp.  He turned to see her being pulled to the ground by an Order acolyte, who was reaching round to bring his energy rifle to bear on her.

“ROSA!” Von roared furiously, launching himself at the soldier, who reacted instantly, the muzzle of the gun moving in the big man’s direction and pulling the trigger.  Rosa screamed as the blast hit Von in the arm; he roared in pain, his momentum carrying him forward to collide with the acolyte, and they tumbled to the ground together, locked in a deadly embrace. Von struggled wildly, managing to grab his assailant by the throat, but the smaller man managed to land a blow to his injured arm, causing Von to lose his grip, screwing his eyes tight as he bellowed in agony.  

When he opened them again, he was looking down the muzzle of the soldier’s gun.

 

 

The Doctor ran his fingers through his blond hair, took a deep breath and turned to Byrnus, who stood next to him, fidgeting nervously.

“What’s the status, Brother Byrnus?”

The grey-cloaked scientist checked his readouts.  “The capacitors are holding with minimal energy loss, Doctor.  Energy conduits are functioning within parameters.  The solar projector is online and ready for deployment.”  

The Doctor considered the information for a moment, then nodded decisively.  

“Very well,” he declared, “It’s now or never.  Ready, Byrnus?”

Byrnus nodded.  “Ready, Doctor.”

“Good luck, everyone!” the Doctor cried, as he threw a series of switches with a flourish.  

 

 

Von screwed his eyes closed, awaiting the blast that would send him to oblivion.  It never came.  Instead, he felt the ground beneath him begin to shake, almost imperceptibly at first, but rapidly building to a violent tremor.  He opened his eyes to see his assailant looking around in confusion; the acolyte staggered to his feet, only to be knocked to the floor as the ground beneath them shifted violently.

“What’s happening?” Rosa shouted, staggering to his side.  All around them the fighting had ceased, citizens and soldiers alike struggling to stay upright as the ground heaved and rolled beneath them like a boiling sea.  

Von grabbed on to her, and they stood there, clinging to each other for dear life.

“Look!” Von shouted suddenly, pointing.  A light was building to the east beyond the building, where the vast crater sat embedded into the shuddering earth, encircled by its eight towering arms.  The light grew brighter and brighter, an inexplicable aurora that drew all eyes to it as it intensified, artificially illuminating the pre-dawn sky.

“I think it’s the end!” shouted Von, holding Rosa tight.  As he spoke, the top-most points of the eight towers burst into life, crackling and fizzing with barely contained orbs of energy, each burning with the intensity of a miniature sun.  The air around the citizens became charged, static sparking between them as the hairs on the back of their necks stood on end.  As the ground rumbled beneath them the air itself seemed to vibrate as a deep humming noise grew in volume, the vibration of sound and earth reverberating through them to their very cores, threatening to shake the flesh from their bones.  People threw their hands up, covering their ears as the noise built to the limits of humanoid endurance, many falling to their knees and crying out in despair at the coming of the end, the fate of the Traken Union finally catching up with them. 

 

 

The control room shook once more as the raw energy siphoned through it;  the Doctor and Brother Byrnus clinging onto the control desk, with Adric nearby, struggling to stay on his feet.

“The beam is stable, Doctor, but Towers Four and Seven are red-lining - we could lose them!” shouted Byrnus.

“I’ll shift the balance of the energy flow,” the Doctor replied, his hands flying across the controls, “that should stabilise them long enough.”

“That’ll throw the trajectory off!” Byrnus cried, an edge of panic in his voice.

“Well, we’ll just have to recalculate!”

“There’s no time!  It took years for us to perfect the equations!”

The Doctor smiled.  “I know a shortcut.”

 

 

As the burning orbs of light grew to an unbearable brilliance, they suddenly erupted, one after the other generating a thunderous crack as the power discharged into the centre of the crater in a crackling arc of pure energy, the beams joining like spokes in a gigantic wheel.  Noise and light reached a tumultuous crescendo, culminating in an ear-splitting boom as a colossal beam of pure white energy erupted into the sky, blasting the surrounding clouds away and blazing upwards to the heavens.

 

 

“Adric?” 

The Doctor had called the boy over but a few short minutes ago, quickly explaining the mathematical task needed to get things back online.  Now Adric looked up from the monitor he had been stationed at, his brow furrowed in concentration.  “Yes, Doctor?”

“How are those equations coming along?”  

“Almost there…” Adric shouted, squinting at the complex schematic flickering on his display.  “Got it!  I’ve recalculated the trajectory, so that the existing solar alignment is maintained - I’ll feed the co-ordinates to your station.”

The Doctor turned to Byrnus, smiling at the Serenite’s amazed expression.  “Always handy to have a maths genius on board, I find!  Now, how is the solar projector holding up?”

Byrnus looked at his screen.  “All systems online.  Ready to deploy.”

“Good.”  The Doctor tapped furiously at his keyboard as he cried: “Standby then, I’ll just feed in Adric’s data, a quick realignment to the beam frequency, and then…”  He hesitated, glancing across the console one last time, before taking a deep breath.  It was now, or never.

“ _Deploy!_ ” 

 

 

Outside, a massive sonic boom burst outwards from the crater, knocking anyone who had managed to stay on their feet immediately to the floor.  The citizens lay where they fell, shielding their eyes from the blazing light as they  looked up to see a dark, spherical object emerging from the crater, travelling up the central energy beam like a bullet from a gun.  It shot heavenwards, starting to glow with heat as it span faster and faster, higher and higher until it became just a pinprick of molten light.  It hung there momentarily, a glowing ember in the ether above, then suddenly the energy beam intensified, the tone of its deafening hum increasing in pitch as the beam narrowed and intensified, hurling all of its power skywards.

The citizens began to gasp in awe as the tiny glowing object above began to grow, seeming to feed off the narrowing energy stream as it absorbed its power, spinning at an ever-increasing rate until its mass and speed began to warp the space around it, the beam bending and wrapping around the orb like a ball of twine, increasing its girth and brilliance with each twist and turn.

Suddenly, the beam shut off, silence and stillness returning to Serenity with startling abruptness.  

Rosa and Von lay together, eyes closed and breathless as their senses fought to readjust after the onslaught they had just endured.  Rosa frowned as she felt an unfamiliar warmth on her upturned face, accompanied by a pleasant tingling sensation on her skin as soft light diffused through her closed eyelids.  She tentatively opened her eyes.

“I - I don’t believe it,” gasped Von beside her, squinting up at the sky.  He got to his feet, helping Rosa to hers as all around them people stared up in wonder.  

High up above them, lighting up the pre-dawn sky, was a new, radiant sun.     

 

 

“We’ve done it!” cried Byrnus jubilantly, “The Source is on line and operating perfectly!”  He took the Doctor’s hand, shaking it vigourously.  “I can’t thank you enough, Doctor… all would have been lost without you.  The people of Serenity owe you a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid–”

“Yes, well - all that can wait, Brother Byrnus,” the Time Lord interrupted, heaving a heavy sigh of relief, “Right now, you and I need to power down and decommission this facility so that it can never be used again.”  He hesitated, painfully aware that there was another, more urgent task that needed to completed.  Turning to his companions, he called:  “Adric!  Tegan!  Check the chamber!”

Adric had been knocked to the floor by the force of the sonic boom; at the Doctor’s request he groggily got to his feet, and moved to the chamber door as quickly as his shaking limbs could carry him, closely followed by Tegan and Suren.  The chamber was dark, filled with a swirling smoke which obscured its contents.  Adric operated the lock and opened the door, coughing as the acrid fumes escaped and dissipated.  

They cautiously entered the chamber.  On the floor lay two crumpled forms, both motionless.  Adric and Tegan rushed to the form on the left of the chamber, Suren to the one on the right. 

“Nyssa?  Are you alright?”  Tegan took her friend’s hand, her pale arm limp and lifeless. 

Adric gently shook her shoulder.  “Nyssa?” he said, looking at Tegan in concern as the young Trakenite remained worryingly unresponsive.  A few moments later, a sudden groan caused them both to start; they looked down in relief to see Nyssa finally stirring, her head rolling as she gave a soft moan, her eyes opening briefly as she drifted between waking and unconsciousness.

“Thank goodness,” said Tegan, “I thought the worst for a minute, there.”  She turned to Suren.

  The medic was examining Nyssa’s older self, a frown on his youthful face.  He felt Tegan’s eyes on him, and looked up to meet her expectant gaze.

“Is she…?” Tegan asked hesitantly, unwilling to complete the sentence.  Suren nodded, downcast, then reached down to gently close the old woman’s eyes.  

Adric got to his feet, a haunted look in his eyes.  “I… I’ll go and tell the Doctor,” he stammered, heading towards the door.  

As he left, Tegan looked down at the old, broken body of her friend, choking back a sob.  Suren moved over to her, putting his arms around her as she leaned into his shoulder, letting the tears flow.

“The Lady has returned to her people,” he whispered, pulling her close.  “She is finally at rest.”

 

 

Adric approached the control desk outside the chamber to find Byrnus working there alone.  

“The Doctor has gone outside,” Byrnus said, noting the boy’s approach. “He said he just needed some air.”  

Adric nodded solemnly, and headed to the exit.

He found the Time Lord outside, stood some distance from the facility, away from the citizens, Fosters and Order soldiers who were all pointing and staring at the sky in wonder.  The Doctor stood alone at the top of a small rise, hands in his pockets as the wind ruffled his fair hair.  Adric slowly made his way over. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the Doctor said, as his companion drew near.  He nodded to the newly-made Source, shining in the clear blue sky above.  

Adric looked up, holding his hand up to shield his eyes.  The rays felt warm on his palm.  “It is,” he replied, before frowning.  “Should it tingle like that?”

“It’s a brand new Source, imbued with almost limitless power.  It’ll take some time to calibrate itself.”  The Doctor raised his hand, experimentally.  “I find it a tad prickly, to be honest.”

They lapsed into silence, each unwilling to broach the subject that they knew was coming.  Finally, Adric took a deep breath, gaining courage to speak.

“Doctor…”

“I know.”  The Doctor interrupted before he could continue, then retreated into his usual stoicism, staring up at the clear sky with a clouded expression.  He thought back to the events in the chamber, recalling the final moments he had spent sharing a lifetime of emotion with the older incarnation of the girl he had known but a few short weeks.  The sadness he felt at her passing weighed heavy enough on his soul now, he thought - what would it be like in the future, when the bond of friendship and loyalty he had sensed in her came to fruition?  Would the time they spent travelling together - however long that might be - always be shadowed by the foreknowledge of her death?  Perhaps this was why his race always eschewed relationships with the rest of the universe, he reflected.  Not for the first time, he felt a twinge of envy at the thought of an existence lived out in linear time.

“It was what she wanted,” the Doctor said, breaking the silence once more.  “We should be happy for her.  I haven’t known Nyssa - well, any of you, for that matter - for very long, but I do know that her desire to help, to make life better for people is what drives her on, after losing so much.  And she’s certainly achieved that here.”  He indicated the crowd of Serenites below, who had begun to dance and cheer, all thoughts of factions and conflict set aside, the ghosts of their troubled past exorcised.  ‘Along with some of my own,’ the Doctor hoped, with the briefest hint of a smile.  He put his arm around Adric’s hunched shoulders.

“I think what we should learn from this,” he said, steering Adric down the slope towards the entrance doors, “is to make the most of the time we have.  Now, about that little chat we were having in the Penal Wing yesterday…”

“Doctor!”  Adric flushed furiously.  “I don’t think now is the time!”

The Doctor laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.  “You’re right,” he said, “it can wait.  Let’s go and check on Nyssa, and then finish decommissioning this equipment.  After all…” he looked up at the Source, slowly beginning to make its way across the sky.

 

“…we’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

 

\- THE END -

 


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loose end tying. Couldn't resist :)

**Epilogue**

 

The warm light of the Source shone down the following morning, glinting from the windows of the TARDIS as it stood in the centre of the Civic Square.  The Doctor and Adric stood a few metres away, talking with Suren, Byrnus and Proctor Morovan, the latter with his chest heavily bandaged and his arm in a sling.  Tegan and Nyssa stood in the shade of the TARDIS, watching them speak.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” Tegan asked her friend, who had been somewhat subdued since regaining consciousness the previous day.  

Nyssa blinked, pulling herself out of her daydream, and forced a smile.  “I’m fine,” she replied.  “My head’s still a bit fuzzy, that’s all.  It’s all been a lot to take in.”

“You don’t say,” said Tegan.  “I’m struggling to get my head round it all, and I’m not the one who–” she stopped herself, biting her lip.  “Sorry.  Me and my big mouth.”

“Don’t worry, Tegan.”  Nyssa put her hand on her friend’s shoulder.  “It’s been a shock for us all.  The fact is, I died, and there’s no getting away from that.  But I’ve got a lot of life left in me yet.”  She smiled, giving Tegan’s shoulder a squeeze.  “Plus, it’s freeing in a way, knowing when and where I die.  Being the last Trakenite in the universe made me wary of taking risks with myself… now maybe I can start to live again.” 

Tegan nodded, before hesitantly asking: “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the funeral?”

“Quite sure,” replied Nyssa.  “The Doctor says it isn’t healthy to attend your own funeral.”

“Well, he should know.”  Tegan looked over to where the Time Lord was talking with the Serenites.  “Suren asked me to stay, you know.”

Nyssa looked at her, surprised.  “And will you?”

“I don’t think so.  He’s a great guy, but things are a little too crazy around here for my liking… and that sun is a bit too bright.  Besides, I’ve got my own future to get back to, and this is yours, not mine.”  She looked at Nyssa hesitantly, reluctant to raise the question that was on both of their minds, but realising it had to be asked, sooner or later.  “Are you thinking about staying?”

Nyssa took a deep breath.  “I…”

Her answer was cut short as she noticed the Doctor, Adric and the three Serenites coming toward them.

“Nyssa!  Tegan!  Ready to go?” the Doctor said cheerily.  Tegan looked at Nyssa expectantly.

“Are you sure you won’t stay?” said Brother Byrnus, “We still need a Keeper, after all.”

Nyssa hesitated for a moment, then to Tegan’s visible relief said: “Thank you, but no.  I’m honoured to be asked, but I feel I’ve done all I can here on Serenity.  The knowledge that some of the Master’s evil has been undone is more than I could ever have hoped for.  Besides, the Source existed for millennia without a Keeper, I’m sure it will do admirably now, under your care.”

“Well,” said Suren, “with the technology restrictions lifted perhaps we can develop a system to start scanning the population - you never know, maybe someone with the Source Marker will turn up, eventually.”

“I’m certain they will,” said Morovan, with a knowing smile.  

The Doctor looked at him questioningly, something prickling at the edge of his consciousness.  He shook his head, the thought evaporating before he could get a hold of it.

“Maybe I’ll come back someday to see how you’re getting on,” said Nyssa, “but for now I’m finding the attention a bit too much.”  She indicated the small crowd that had gathered in the square a few meters away.  “The life of a full-time deity isn’t really all that appealing.”

The Doctor considered the three Serenites before him.  “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “you three have the makings of a good triumverate… the legal, the medical and the spiritual… just don’t let the power go to your heads,” he warned.

“No danger of that!” laughed Suren, “The thought of sharing a cell with Jonaris is more than enough of a deterrent!”

“And in the absence of a Keeper, that will be for the people to decide,” said Byrnus, “They’ve been tyrannised for long enough.”

The Doctor nodded approvingly.  “Well, it looks like Serenity is in good hands.”  He turned to his companions.  “We’d better be off.”

Before they could leave, a small girl and boy approached from the gathering crowd.  They stopped in front of Nyssa, each giving a practised curtsey and bow, the little girl holding out some flowers.  Nyssa took them with a smile and a deep curtsey of her own.  The boy stepped forward, tentatively pulling on her sleeve.  He was no more than four years old, with dark brown hair framing a pudgy, round face.

“Please don’t go, my Lady - you haven’t answered my prayer yet!”

Nyssa smiled, crouching before the boy and looking into his wide hazel eyes.  “Think of it then, and I’ll answer, if I can.”  

The boy smiled in delight then screwed his eyes shut, his tiny fists clenching as he prayed with all his might.  Nyssa closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift and opening her mind towards him.  After a moment she smiled, chuckling as she opened her eyes again.

“Well, I can’t do that yet,” she said gently, “but if you keep me in your dreams, then one day, when you’re a bit older, I might return.”  The boy smiled, his small face lighting up.  

“What’s your name, dear one?” Nyssa asked.

“Lasarti,” he replied.

 

 

The TARDIS time-rotor began to rise and fall, marking the end of one journey and the beginning of another.  

“Where to now, Doctor?” asked Adric, scrutinising the controls.

“Well, I thought maybe a bit of relaxation time,” replied the Doctor, “There’s this spa I know in ancient Rome–”

“ _Rome?_   Isn’t that Earth again?” retorted Adric, accusingly.

“I see he’s back to normal,” said Tegan in a low voice, turning to Nyssa.  She frowned at the pained look on the Trakenite’s face.  “Are you OK?” 

“It’s nothing,” replied Nyssa, “Just something keeps catching on the back of my neck, that’s all.”  She pulled her collar down, reaching up to rub the offending area.

“Let’s have a look,” said Tegan.  She lifted her friend’s long curly hair up, looking where she had indicated.  “Well, that’s weird.”

“What?”  

“There’s a scar back here.  Your necklace is catching on it, where it’s healing.  But it’s perfectly square.”

The Doctor moved over to them, his escalating discussion with Adric put on hold.   “Let me see.”  

Nyssa turned her back to him, as he donned his half-moon spectacles to examine the wound.  After a moment he looked up, the thought that had been bugging him suddenly bursting into clarity.  

He rushed to the console without a word, quickly adjusting the controls before dashing off into the TARDIS interior.  The time-rotor paused, then juddered into life again, its pace much quicker than previously.

“What was all that about?” said Adric, frowning.

“Not a clue,” said Tegan, “He’s off on one of his episodes again.”

The time-rotor juddered to a halt, and before Adric could check the readouts the Doctor rushed back in again, this time carrying a large cricket bag.  He rushed past the astonished faces of his companions, and activated the door lever.

“Stay here.  Don’t follow me,” he said sternly, “I’ll be back in a minute.”  And with that he rushed through the doors, firmly closing them behind him.

The three companions looked at each other, not knowing what to make of the Time Lord’s erratic behaviour.  Nyssa leaned over the console, checking the nearest monitor.  

“We’re back on Serenity again… but why?” she asked, confused.

“It’s the same time zone as when we left,” said Adric, consulting the readout on the panel in front of him, “But we’ve moved in space.  Not very far, by the looks of it.”

“I’m going after him,” said Tegan decisively, moving towards the doors. 

Nyssa reached out to hold her back, wary of the Doctor’s warning, but before the Australian could operate the lever the doors began to open inward of their own accord.  The TARDIS occupants all took a step back as intense heat blasted into the console room, accompanied by a thick black smoke.  There was the sound of an explosion, and then the Doctor burst through the opening, cricket bag in hand as he brushed debris from his shoulder and activated the door mechanism, shutting out the inferno behind him.  He carefully deposited the bag on the floor, then set to adjusting the TARDIS controls, setting her into motion once more.

Tegan coughed as she wafted the remnants of the acrid smoke away from her.  “Care to enlighten us as to what the hell is going on?” she cried.

The Doctor leaned on the console, trying to calm his breathing after his last few minutes of action before he faced up to Tegan’s tirade.

“Er, Doctor…” said Adric, looking at the floor, “Your bag seems to be… moving!”

“Ah, yes… better get it open…”  The Doctor took a deep breath and wiped his brow, before moving over to the wriggling holdall, carefully unzipping it, and pulling out a small bundle.

“The scar, you see… made me realise, what’s been bugging me for a while,” he said, breathlessly.  “And Morovan just then, seemed so sure that a Keeper would be found… and of course he had access to the Order’s facility… must have been their ‘Plan B’… Obvious, really!”

He walked over to Nyssa, and passed the bundle to her.  It was loosely wrapped in white linen, writhing and squirming in her grasp.  Holding the bundle in the crook of her arm, she carefully moved the linen aside to reveal…

A tiny baby, no more than a few days old, naked and wriggling in her arms.

Nyssa looked up at the Doctor, eyes wide with shock, as Adric and Tegan crowded around to get a better look.

“But… how?” stammered Adric.

“Streuth, Doc!” said Tegan, “You can’t go round taking people’s babies!  And why the hell would you want to, for that matter?!”

“Shhhhhhh,” hushed the Doctor, more at his companions than the infant, “She’s not _anyone’s_ child.  Look at her.”

They all looked down at the baby, who had quietened in the comfort of Nyssa’s arms, her wrinkled face frowning under the bright lights of the TARDIS as she began to open her eyes.

Eyes that were a distinctive shade of pale green.

Tegan gasped, looking closer at the child’s pale, porcelain skin and the scattering of light brown hair across her tiny head, that was already beginning to curl.

“Is that… but how can that be?” asked Adric.

“The scar on the back of Nyssa’s neck can only have been someone taking a tissue sample, probably whilst you were sedated in the Infirmary,” the Doctor explained.  “And we know the Order was utilising cloning technology to swell their numbers - I had even been to their secret facility in the Procardinal’s cellars.  It looks like Jonaris took the opportunity to create his own ‘Lady’ as an insurance policy, but one that he could mould and control for his own ends.  Morovan clearly knew of it - I couldn’t risk the possibility of him using her in the future, so I took her from the facility, and destroyed it so they couldn’t use any further samples that they might have taken.”

“A clone?” gasped Tegan, catching up with the Doctor’s lengthy explanation, “Of Nyssa?”

The Doctor nodded, smiling down at the child and playing wth her fingers.  “It looks like you’re not the last of your kind, after all,” he said softly to Nyssa.  She smiled, looking down at her infant replica.   

“But what are we going to do with her?” asked Adric.  “We can’t keep a baby in the TARDIS!”

“Well, that’s up to you, Nyssa,” the Doctor replied.  “Maybe you should take some time to think about it.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but I don’t think I need to,” Nyssa replied, smiling.  She looked down at the gurgling baby, and gently moved her blanket aside to show him something.  “A product of an impurity in the cloning liquid?  But however it got there, I think it tells us all we need to know.”

“Ah,” said the Doctor, as the implications of what Nyssa was saying dawned on him.  He nodded, smiling warmly.  “I’ll set the co-ordinates.”

 

 

Early morning mist hung in the gardens of the grand house, the late summer sun yet to rise and drive it away, although the rose-tinged hues of the sky above hinted at the dawn to come.  The calls and chirrups of the dawn chorus were in full swing, only to be momentarily interrupted by a strange, wheezing/groaning noise, as a large blue box slowly materialised on the gravel drive.

The doors opened, the Doctor and his companions carefully exiting from the time ship. Nyssa emerged last, carefully manoeuvring a small moses basket through the narrow door, trying not to wake its tiny occupant.  Adric softly closed the door behind her, and the group began to walk across the drive towards the front door of the house.

Halfway to the door, the Doctor gasped.

“A 1903 Sunbeam 12HP Tourer!” he exclaimed, pointing at the shiny Edwardian motor car parked further up the drive.  “What a beauty!  Canary yellow too, my favourite!”  He veered off towards the roadster, only for Tegan to pull him back.

“Focus, Doctor!  We’ve got a job to do!” she hissed.

“Sorry, right you are.”

They continued to the front door, a grand affair surrounded by two white Graeco-Roman pillars surmounted by an elaborate triangular portico above.  The house appeared silent, the only sign of life a faint ragtime rhythm in the distance, probably coming from the kitchens as the staff prepared for the family to arise.  

“Well, here we are,” said the Doctor, turning to face his companions.

Tegan put an arm round Nyssa.  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Nyssa nodded solemnly.  “She belongs here, we know that.  And these people can give her a far more stable and secure upbringing that I ever could.  She’ll be safe, and warm… and loved.”

“I think that’s all any of us can ask for,” Tegan sniffed, her eyes welling with tears as she leant forward and kissed the sleeping baby on the forehead.  “Goodbye, little one.”  

The Doctor and Adric both said their farewells, and along with Tegan turned and slowly began to walk back to the TARDIS.

Nyssa set the basket down on the doorstep, crouching down to stroke the infant’s soft, downy hair.  Tucking her blankets closely around her, she made sure the note she had written was securely fastened to the side of the basket.  She planted one final, gentle kiss on her cheek, then got to her feet, and rang the doorbell.  The sound echoed inside the house, and after a moment the faint music was suddenly silenced.

“Goodbye… Ann,” whispered Nyssa, then turned and joined her companions, taking one last look back at the basket before they entered the TARDIS once more, the blue ship fading out of existence as it carried the travellers off on another journey through time and space.

As the strange, wheezing/groaning sound died in the air, the front door of the house opened.  A red-faced maid poked her head outside, her mouth dropping open as she noted the basket on the floor, and the peacefully sleeping child within.  After a moment, she shouted back into the hall.

 

“Lady Talbot?  Lady Talbot!  I think you’d better come and see this!”     

 


End file.
